Curing Lonely
by MWoods78
Summary: Late Season 3 era. Huddy begin an affair when the baby Cuddy had through a donor insemination is sick in the hospital. Cuddy is a single mom, but House gradually begins offering his support. *ADULT Fiction*
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is an M-rated story. Every chapter will contain sexual content. If you are offended by this please do not read. **

**This story may include a couple of flashbacks, and I will try to keep the timeline clear. If I fail to do this, please let me know and I'll clarify.**

**I don't own these characters. **

* * *

"I'm confident in Reber," Cuddy told Wilson as she looked through the glass at her two-month-old son. "I'll just feel better once the surgery is over."

"I'm sure it will be fine. Reber is the best," Wilson answered as he stood next to her, gazing into the infant's room. "You should go home. Sleep for a few hours."

The door to the observation room opened and House entered, disturbing the peaceful silence. As soon as he saw Cuddy, he flinched, "Wilson, I was looking for you. The kids want you to check out a few scans. For some reason my repeated demonstrations of infallibility aren't enough. They want an oncologist."

"Sure," Wilson shrugged.

"They're waiting in your office."

Wilson looked at Cuddy, who seemed immune to the discussion behind her. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Don't worry about it, Wilson. I'm going to go home to get a shower. I'll be back later. There's no need for you to hang around," her tired and worried voice answered.

When Wilson left the room, he was surprised that House didn't take the opportunity to leave as well. After the door closed, House said, "Sucks about your kid."

"They said he'll be fine. This is perfectly routine for them."

"Most surgery is perfectly routine unless you're the one on the table. Or the mom of the one on the table."

She still stared ahead, watching the tiny person tightly swaddled in blankets.

"I blame the donor. I told you you had better options," he stated.

"Thank you for questioning that decision right now," she complained through her tight jaw, "because that is exactly the type of support that I need right now."

"I am known as the guy who knows exactly what to say to make people feel better." Cuddy took a step toward the door when he wedged his body between her and freedom, "You look like you're in pain."

"Of course I'm in pain," she argued, quieting after the initial outburst. "My son is going into surgery in two days. I'm worried. It took me a long time to have this baby, and I have this peculiar emotional attachment to him."

House stared at her face without judgment, searching for clues. "Not that kind of pain."

She shook her head, pushing past him and walking down the hall as quickly as she could.

House left for home a few minutes later, ready for a drink and a few Vicodin in front of his television. In the parking lot, he realized that Cuddy's escape had failed. She was sitting in the driver's seat of her car without the engine running, leaning forward on the steering wheel. He got in on the passenger's side. "Is this breakdown emotional or automotive?"

"Get. Out."

"I could help."

"Just go. Please. I can't do this with you here."

"Answer the question—emotional or automotive?"

"My car won't start. I need to go home for an hour to take care of a few things before I come back to stay with him."

"I thought someone was with him."

"My sister is. But if something happens—"

"Nothing is going to happen. If something happens, the nurses and Reber will deal with it anyway. You should sleep. Sitting there staring at him doesn't help anything. I don't think his list of resentments will begin with 'the time my mom left my bedside for a few hours to get a shower after spending every waking moment staring at my boring infant ass.' He won't even remember."

"I will. I need clean clothes and my car won't start. I doubt you're a mechanic, but if you are, by all means, fix it."

"I am not a mechanic."

"Then how are you helping exactly?"

"I do have a car. I will take you home and bring you back."

"What do you want?" she groaned suspiciously.

"If I'm there, I might as well watch you shower." She slowly turned her head to glower, but before she laid into him, he added, "I'll wait in the car."

"I'm having trouble believing this is coming from a place of benevolence stored deep inside you."

"If you try to hitchhike, you might get picked up by an axe murder cannibal. If you die, I have a new boss. Which virtually guarantees I'll have to actually work."

"This is self interest?"

"And nothing more," he answered with a deliberate smile.

She sighed slowly, "Fine. Thanks."

When they got to his car, he handed her a Vicodin.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Vicodin. Or, as the insurance company would prefer, hydrocodone."

"I know what it is, I mean why are you giving it to me?"

"You're in pain. Maybe from sleeping in the chair in your kid's room. Or not sleeping. You're in pain from something. I can tell. You don't want to tell me what it is, I get that. But take the pill."

"It's not prescribed to me."

"OK. I'll write you a prescription. We'll go back inside, wait for you to get it filled, keeping you needlessly away from your son for even longer. Then, I'll eventually steal the leftovers from you anyway, so no matter what, someone will be taking a pill that isn't prescribed for them, and you are the reason why. But one way you're back to your kid faster. The other way, you're wasting precious bonding moments."

She took the pill and dug a water bottle from her purse. After it was swallowed, House asked, "Can I have the date and time? I need it so I can record the exact moment when your life of drug abuse began." He grinned before he began to drive away.

When he turned onto the highway, she complained, "Where are you going?"

"It's faster this way."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is. During rush hour, driving through town takes twice as long. I know because I actually go home. You go home at midnight, when there's no traffic anywhere."

Neither of them spoke until they met a long string of red brake lights. She sighed a long, dramatic, irritated sigh.

"Fuck," he cursed as he got out of the car, grabbed his cane and limped a few vehicles ahead. After a few minutes, he returned, getting back in the car and admitting, "There's an accident a few miles down, it's on the traffic report. It's gonna be awhile."

"Seriously?" she asked angrily before she grabbed her phone from her purse and called the hospital to check on her son.

After she hung up he asked, "Everything OK?"

"Nothing has changed."

"And that means it's OK."

Her discomfort was really showing after nearly a half hour of idling. He started to look around, suddenly grabbing the gear shift and putting the car into drive.

"Where do you think you're going to go?" she asked.

He pulled onto the shoulder, following the road a short distance until he turned up a stone service road. There was a small open area with snow plows and road treatment supplies. "My leg hurts. We'll wait up here. You're not going to get back to the hospital any faster if we sit in the lane." She took the door handle and started to get out, but he argued, "Stay in the car. If you walk home it will take about two hours. And your car is at the hospital, so you have no way back. Just sit back and relax. We'll be at your place within an hour. If anything happens, your sister will call, and I'll figure something else out."

"Fine," she replied, sitting back and looking at the dusting of snow that still coated the grass from an earlier shower. "It's cold out there anyway."

House extended his seat back and kicked his legs out, rubbing his thigh. With his other hand, he took out his pills, holding the bottle out to her, "Need another one?"

"You're in a sharing mood."

"You look miserable."

"I'm not really sure I could handle that much," she warned, looking at him like he was crazy.

"What's wrong with you? Besides your kid."

"Let it go."

"No, tell me. If you won't tell me I'll guess. Is it genital warts? The plague? Hammer toe?"

"No."

"A common stomach virus? Hemorrhoids? Arthritis? Dementia? Legionnaire's Disease? Mad cow? Because right now you definitely seem like a—"

"Don't finish that sentence."

"Maybe it's the first real case of lupus and the primary symptoms is-" he stopped and looked over at her when the realization dawned on him. "If your boobs hurt why can't you just say that."

"I don't feel like talking about it."

"Do you have any idea the shit I see in the clinic? You can't say that. I actually am a real doctor."

"But you aren't an adult."

"Can't you get a pump or something?"

"God," she complained loudly, looking up toward the roof of the car, "yes I can. I have one at home and one at the office. I thought I was going home right now. I swear, if I say I don't want to talk about something you just keep pushing."

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I'm not. I just don't like talking about personal things with you. It always comes back to hurt me."

"I didn't tell anyone about your insemination. The shots. I didn't blab about any of that. This is sort of mommy-related."

She stared out the window, breathing in the cold, damp mildew smell in his car. Shivering, she crossed her arms again, closing her eyes and leaning back. "How long has it been?" he asked loudly.

"This morning. Early."

"He isn't eating at all?"

"House-" she sighed before she decided to answer his questions without resistance, "He can't nurse because he keeps vomiting. IV fluids only. I was with him today, I hate leaving his room and I'm still trying to maintain a little privacy for myself at my hospital. I thought I could just run down to my office or go home to pump."

He turned, looking down through the trees at the unmoving red lights of the cars.

They sat in silence while nearly ten minutes passed. "I'll help you," House offered.

"I know. Get me home and we're good. I'll owe you a favor."

"No, I mean, I'll help you for now."

She side-eyed him, and shook her head, "Whatever you're thinking, no thanks."

"OK."

"What exactly were you proposing?" she asked after thinking on it.

"Getting my Vicodin back. Like recycling."

She snorted out a grim laugh, "You're crazy. Just take another one."

"It was just an offer, Cuddy. Nobody's forcing you."

"Why?"

"You look miserable. I can help."

"You're actually into this?" she asked, aghast again at something he'd suggested.

"It's not a fetish. It's a favor."

"You're disgusting," she humphed.

After several minutes, she turned back and saw the traffic was still stagnant. "The last thing we need is a rumor like that getting out."

"I agree," he answered. "I wasn't planning on bragging about it."

"Fine, do it," she said after a few minutes when things didn't seem to be getting better. "Just a little to help me until I can get home."

"Nope, I don't feel like it anymore."

"You are such an ass. Now you're going to hold the fact that I agreed to do it over my head, aren't you? I knew this was a trap."

"Stop," he interrupted. "Come here. But to be perfectly clear, you tell another soul about this, and I will unleash a spreading of information far more powerful than you could possibly imagine." He ended his threat with an evil grin.

"Agreed."

"Come on," he said, leaning his seat back a little more and pointing at his lap.

"I'm not going to sit on your lap."

"It's the easiest way to do it, Cuddy."

"This isn't a sex thing?"

"Of course not," he answered.

She moved over onto his lap, sitting sideways across it, and then he added, "But I can't promise I won't enjoy it. They are still your breasts." She started to move off again, but he wrapped an arm around her, "Would you relax?"

"My world is falling apart. How am I supposed to relax?"

"Fine. Don't."

"And don't expect anything. They look horrible."

He unzipped her coat, but she impatiently took over and started to unbutton her own shirt. He reached for a clasp in the front of her bra and she whimpered when her breasts tumbled out heavily.

"They're beautiful," he sighed with honesty. "They look amazing. Big, but amazing."

"Be careful."

His hand surrounded one breast, lifting it slightly and softly massaging the full flesh. Droplets appeared along her nipple from that touch alone. She shifted uncomfortably. His other arm wrapped around her, worming under her coat and shirt until his hand rested on his side. His fingers stroked up and down her side, comfortingly. "Just relax," he said with unanticipated concern. "Turn and face me. It'll be easier."

Hesitantly she turned, straddling his lap. He felt that hard, suddenly heavy jolt to his dick. There were no warning tingles, no building threats of arousal. She faced him, straddling his lap, her breasts engorged in front of him. His mind went directly to the last time she was in this position, and the sound of her cumming echoed in his brain. His one arm swooped under her ass, lifting her higher so she was sitting more on his abdomen than his lap. His free hand lifted a breast again to his mouth and he wrapped his lips around it.

"Ow," she yelped, pulling back.

"What?"

"You're doing it wrong."

"I've never done this before, usually these are just for fun. Tell me what you want me to do," he complained angrily.

"Here," she lifted a little more toward him, "put a little more of it in your mouth."

"Like this?" he asked, approaching carefully and wrapping his lips without sucking.

"Yea. Now try it like that."

He pulled her nipple into his mouth a few times and then he felt her body weight relax onto his. He coughed loudly when a burst of fluid flooded his mouth.

"God," she pulled back, "I knew this was a mistake. I'm sure it's disgusting."

"Relax. I thought you were uptight before, but now—." He looked up at her then and added, "It's not disgusting. I just didn't realize what sort of volume we were talking about. I told you, I've never played with them like this before. I'm surprised more babies don't choke. Or maybe it's just your superior breasts."

She smiled, "This is really awkward."

"No it's not."

Before she had a chance to protest, he took her nipple back in his mouth and began to suck. She breathed more calmly as her body released appropriate hormones and she became more at ease. "That's enough," she said when he'd taken enough. He let go and she shifted her body to put the neglected breast in front of his face.

He took the next one easily, without the difficulty of finding the correct position and angle. Eventually she leaned forward, her cheek coming to rest on top of head. "You good?" he asked when she didn't stop him.

"Yea," she answered sleepily, sitting up and quickly wiping tears from her face.

"You could have stopped me if it hurt."

"It didn't."

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she answered, quickly putting her bra back into the place and buttoning her shirt.

"Fine."

"Thank you for that. I'm sure that was not your favorite thing to do. It was nice of you."

"I don't really mind anything that has to do with your breasts."

She sort of laughed, but it only accentuated her tears.

"You can't tell me what's wrong?" he asked. "Just stress from the kid? What is it?"

"When most mothers are ready to leave the hospital after having a baby, we repeatedly ask them all of those questions about postpartum depression, about what they need, do they have help. No one asked me after I had Nathaniel. No one."

"I'm sure Wilson did."

"No one. I don't mind, but it was like no one felt it was necessary to ask."

"You don't project an air of helplessness, Cuddy. More the opposite."

"Thanks for helping me tonight. This—the ride home. All of it. Please don't say anything."

"It wouldn't be good for my reputation either. Your secret's safe." She smiled and nodded before she tried to pull away, and then he locked his arms on her thighs so she couldn't leave. "Do you think you have postpartum depression?"

She looked down toward his chin. "I don't know. I'm worried about my son. What am I going to do if he dies?"

"I saw his chart and Reber thinks-"

"You have no idea what was going on here."

"It's your kid. Of course I know what's going on," House confessed quietly.

"So why act like you didn't know?"

"I don't know. Sometimes you don't want me involved. Sometimes you do. It's hard to tell when you want what."

"No it isn't."

"It is for me," he said decisively so there would be no confusion.

She wasn't crying but he was certain that he'd never seen anyone that sad before in his life. He lifted his back from the chair and brought his mouth to hers. His tongue slid immediately in her mouth, and there was no resistance. She slipped her tongue along his, welcoming him in her mouth as they indulged in the deep wetness of the kiss.

She slid down his abdomen and onto his lap, the fluidity of the movement of her mouth against his pausing when she felt how hard he was beneath her. His body reacted before he could prohibit it, his ass lifting off the seat to raise his body to her while his hands found her hips and pressed her down onto him. Her eyes were stunned although he was confused about why his reaction would surprise her. She popped open the button on his jeans and lowered the zipper. "Better?" she asked.

He reached down, adjusting himself so he was completely free of the jeans because the constraint had become very uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn't even sure what it was going to be, but she swallowed his words when she covered his mouth with her lips. Her hands pressed roughly against his stomach, and reached into his boxers. She was acting before he was even prepared for what was going on.

Her one hand cupped his balls, her fingers caressing them while her other hand grabbed his cock. He groaned, "I thought you said we weren't doing this anymore."

"I want it. Do you want it?"

He looked down at her hand on his straining dick and answered gruffly, "What do you think? You were the one who thought it was a bad idea."

She lifted up, twisting and turning to remove her pants and underwear. They were kissing again when his hands unbuttoned her shirt but she wouldn't let him take her bra off again. The car was cold but they couldn't feel the chill. He could see the edges of the scar from her c-section, still red. Her stomach was a little softer than what it had been, but still flatter than most. He guessed that within a few more months, the only clue that she'd ever been pregnant would be the scar because she was a perfectionist when it came to her body. In truth, he liked the softer edges of her body, but didn't say anything because he was certain she would think he was being an ass and would stop what they were doing.

Her fingers covered and circled the head of his cock before she jerked downward with increasingly long pumps along his shaft. He reached for her, pulling her closer with one hand while his other hand reached for her moist pussy. She was beyond wet, and when his fingers thrust into her body, he could feel the wetness coating his palm. He pressed with the heel of his hand against her clit and she mewled her response. His pace quickened because he was drawn into her wetness, lured by the promise of her hot, tight body.

His breath started to quicken, with the slight sound of a grunt at the end of each exhale. He knew he was close, so he grabbed her hand and slowed it. His balls were full and tight, he wouldn't have minded cumming one way or another, but he didn't know if it was an accidental fling in the car or something that she would be open to doing again. "I want to fuck you."

He was prepared to follow that with a question, probably something that sounded more like a demand than a request, but she was scooting forward, aiming his erection right at her core. She answered when she pushed her hips toward him. He loved that first moment sometimes as much as he loved cumming. She was always so tight, but so slick and welcoming, the perfect combination. He loved the feeling of his blunt tip pushing into her body, that first second where he'd push into her. There was always the resistance of her body while she begged to be opened by him until he was finally inside.

Her tight sheathe would grip as he shoved into her, her inner walls clinging to him, sucking him into her body. She made the perfect sounds, little moans and purrs when he was the whole way in her, and sometimes louder gasps when his body would press on her clit. If he was at the wrong angle, he'd use his hand to make sure she was completely stimulated because he loved making her orgasm.

Partially seated in his car, the angle was perfect. She would tip her hips down to rub her clit against his body each time he was completely in her, filling her with every inch of him. His hands were free to grab her ass, to lift her higher so he could plunge into her over and over and over. She was counter-thrusting each time he shoved into her. He could feel his body tightening again, knowing that he was going to explode because his thoughts centered on the way he pistoned in and out of her. He freed one hand, flicking her fluid soaked clit with his finger, hoping that she was soon going to come.

The first tight pulse of her pussy make him cum because he knew she'd follow. She did, the sensation of going in and out was compounded by the squeezing motions inside her body. She came, her voice higher and graceful like a song that would play in head, making his own satisfied growl sound particularly masculine and crude. There was no way to filter that sound, to pretend like he wasn't wrapped up in the sex that it seemed only she could give. He had no choice but to surrender to their bodies, and there was nothing in the world that he'd rather surrender to.

There were times when she'd pull away more quickly, but she didn't. She put her head against his shoulder and stayed there for awhile. He did that sometimes too, they both did. Sex between them didn't happen often, it was rare, but it felt unavoidable every time they allowed it. Sometimes their flings were as much about finding comfort in a little human contact as they were about sex. "The cars are moving," she said after a minute.

"Hunh?"

"On the highway. It's slow, but moving."

He tightened his arms around her, "We'll go soon."

She sat up. "It was my fault, sorry."

"What?"

"The sex. My fault. I let it happen."

"And I always like it when it does. I'm not going to complain."

"I shouldn't be doing this right now. My son is in the hospital and I'm off fucking you in a car. I should write parenting books."

"Parents are still allowed to have sex. That's why there are early kiddie bedtimes."

"I guess," she said as she pulled away from him, looking for something to clean up with and scrounging up a few tissues from her purse. She sat down in the seat, House fixed his clothes and they drove. She called to check on her son, the guilt audible in her voice.

Over an hour later, he dropped her off at the hospital. "You want me to come in with you?" he offered.

"It's OK."

"I'll stop up tomorrow."

"Don't feel obligated," she said.

"You say no one ever asks if you're alright. I'll be up tomorrow to see if you are."

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

As promised, House went to visit Cuddy while she waited with her son. The grumpy diagnostician watched her for as long as he could without getting caught. The boy was facing her, and she was touching his face with the tips of her fingers. When House came close, he saw the boy was almost smiling at her.

House sat in the chair next to Cuddy, "Any changes?"

"They said he's all ready. Tomorrow's the big day."

Cuddy touched the top of the infant's chest, and House could tell that she was imagining the incision that would be there after surgery the next day. "You know," he said, pretending to whisper to the boy, "girls love guys with scars. You'll be badass before you can spell it. Someday, that scar is going to get you laid."

She smacked House with the back of her hand, "He's a baby."

"We were all babies once. Then we all grow up and want to get laid."

They were silent, watching the boy move weakly. He wasn't the healthiest looking child anymore. He was a cute baby, but the problems with his heart made him sleepy and made his skin appear ashen.

"Do you want to hold him?" she asked quietly.

House subtly shook his head no. He had never held the boy. In fact, Cuddy was reasonably sure that he had never even touched the child.

"Come on. Hold him," she insisted, smiling when House reluctantly agreed.

His large hands covered the boy's sides. The two stared at each other, each with oddly suspicious looks until the baby smiled. House seemed surprised, and answered, "Could you stop being so sick? Your mother is getting worry lines. I'll make you a deal, if you get better, I promise to take you to see your first stripper."

"A stripper?"

"When you're eighteen," House clarified for Cuddy's benefit.

"Well good," Cuddy said dryly, "he can look forward to objectifying women when he's older."

"All men objectify women on occasion. The ones who you think don't objectify you are either too polite or too scared to do it in front of you. Wilson and I will make sure he doesn't grow up to know the difference between Prada and—" House stopped when he saw her face. Seconds earlier, she seemed to be joking, but then she remembered everything that was going on in her life. His voice was quiet but firm and resolute, "Tomorrow night the surgery will be done. In a few years, you'll be worried about him knocking up cheerleaders and taking your car. He'll live long enough for you to want to kill him."

She laughed sadly, "I hope so."

"Well kid, I gotta get back down to my own kids before they kill a patient. They're a lot older and needier than you are. Today they're entertaining stupid theories, disobeying and generally annoying daddy."

He put the baby back into Cuddy's arms. "Do you want to know?" she asked.

"About his father?"

"Yea."

"It doesn't matter anyway. It doesn't change anything."

"I thought it might matter to you."

"If he is mine it means I'm a shitty father who hardly looked at him for the first two months of his life. And if he isn't mine-" House stared off while he considered, and abruptly shook his head at whatever thought was in his brain. He changed the subject, "Are you staying here tonight?"

"Yea."

"If the kids can't figure out what to do with this patient, I'll come back so you and your offspring can help me rerun the differential diagnosis. If we figure it out, I'll have years of joy reminding my team they were stumped by a case a two-month-old could solve."

"Sure," Cuddy answered, gathering her poise before House went back to work, "we'll be here if you want us."

* * *

**# # # One Year Earlier # # #  
**

Cuddy shuffled sleepily down the hall toward the front door, opening it without looking because she heard the familiar sound of a midnight cane-knock on her door. "What?"

"You're here when you have two weeks of vacation from work? Why are you here when you could be somewhere else?" House inquired.

"We can't all be on other people's doorsteps at this hour. Someone has to be home to answer the door or this game wouldn't be so thrilling."

He smirked approvingly at her response while surveying her nightclothes. "You aren't letting me in. Is there a man in there? Some poor guy chained to your bed while you slowly drain the life from him."

"Jealous?"

He looked around on the floor by the door, searching for unfamiliar shoes or evidence of another person in her home.

"No one here but me," she answered. She yanked him into her home and closed and dead-bolted the door because the freezing winter air was pouring into her foyer. Watching while she walked back to the kitchen, he leaned on his cane and followed her. House waited impatiently in an oddly patient way, sitting and staring at her while she made tea. He didn't ask again or prod, but his constant watch begged for an answer.

She filled a kettle with water and dropped it on the stove with enough force to clash the metal.

"I thought you were away, sunning on a nude beach and sipping mojitos," he explained.

"You thought I was away? So that means you're not here to see me, you're here to snoop."

"I was performing my neighborhood watch duties, and saw activity in your home."

"I'm sure. Look, House, you should go."

"Why?"

"Because it's late."

"You don't have work tomorrow."

She started gently but persistently motioning him toward the door. "You should go anyway. I'm supposed to be relaxing, reducing stress."

He took a few steps voluntarily and then stopped like an unmovable wall. "What do you mean 'supposed to be relaxing'? Doctor's orders? Is something wrong with you?"

"Not exactly. I'm- I'm going in for a procedure tomorrow."

His face went blank and skin became pale. She took him into the living room and patted the sofa so he would sit.

"I'm asking you to use your discretion. Please don't tell anyone. Not your team, not Wilson."

"Of course."

"I'm going in for IUI tomorrow."

"No more IVF?"

"A regular IUI. Normal insemination. This new specialist I went to thinks that maybe I didn't get pregnant because of stress hormones, the worry about the procedure, coupled with work. We're trying a much more holistic approach in combination with the proper medications and the latest medical research. We're trying something simpler. After four rounds of IVF, there's no point in trying that. I doubt it will work anyway, but this is one last try."

"Are you using mine?"

She avoided looking at him but answered, "You said you didn't want to know. When you donated, you told me specifically to never tell you as part of the terms of your agreement."

"I do not recall."

"You do recall. I'm following your conditions. You probably set the whole damn thing up so you'd have a mystery to look forward to. You'll be following my child up and down the halls at work looking for clues that may prove you are genetically related. Or maybe you'd rather disprove. I don't know."

"If you were using mine you'd tell me. You don't have to be gentle with my feelings, you can be honest."

"I promised you I wouldn't tell you. You need to go home. I'm supposed to be relaxed and perfectly at ease when I go in tomorrow."

"Are you implying that I'm a stressful part of your life?"

"Most definitely."

House was almost completely still, his face wrinkled up with unhappiness and discontent.

"You said you wanted me to have a baby if that's what I wanted."

"I did."

"Fine. I'll tell them to destroy the samples you donated if that's what you want. No one forced you into this."

"I know. Use mine, don't use mine, I don't care. If you aren't using it, have them flush it."

"I don't understand you sometimes."

"I should go," he said, standing up, and walking to the door. He stood in front of it, almost out of her home, and told her, "Good luck. I hope you get what you want."

"Thank you."

He shifted toward the door a few times, like he was torn on what his next move should be. Then he calmly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. His hold on her wasn't tight at first. She put her arms over his shoulders and kissed his cheek. "I mean it. Thank you, House."

She looked at him, her calm gray eyes gazing contentedly at him. When she thought he was going to let go of her and leave, his hands wandered to her ass and grabbed her ample cheeks. Cuddy thought he was playing around, joking to lighten the mood, until he pulled her flat against him. One of his hands left her butt and took her face in his. He started kissing her neck. She sighed almost as soon as she felt his mouth on her skin. She often tried to act like she was not interested, but she fantasized about him and wanted him as much as he thought of her. "What is this?" she asked.

"You're tense."

She fluctuated between trying to put space between them and trying to get closer.

"All of those hormones you're on probably have you really wound up," he said with a diagnostic inflection.

"All of the hundreds of times you have been able to try this and you decide you have to make a play right now?" she asked, disbelievingly.

"We can ignore it tomorrow. Like we ignore the fact that I donated for you, and we ignore the fact that you could possibly have my kid, and ignore the fact that we've done this before and will probably do it again."

"This is a very bad idea."

"Probably. But no one is going to get hurt or diseased. Nothing will change. And more importantly, we both know that it will feel really, really good."

Her eyes glassed over because she knew exactly how good it would feel. She looked at his mouth, down at his hand on her arm, felt the slight ridge in his jeans against her, all loud reminders of exactly how good he could make her feel.

Her mouth slid against his, both because she wanted to kiss him and she didn't want him to say anything else. He started leading her to her bedroom. He didn't try to take off her nightclothes, but his hands roamed the silkiness of the fabric and the silkiness of her skin. He stood next to her bed as she warned him, "I'm ovulating. Or I will be by tomorrow. You get that there are other forces at play here besides the fact that we both want sex."

"I'll be careful," he answered, but they were already getting into her bed. He positioned his chest between her thighs. The thin, short robe that had been over her shoulders was opened, pooled around her body. He lifted the nightgown and it was soft, smooth and way too sexy for her to have worn to bed without someone to appreciate it. He slipped off her underwear, watching the way her legs curved and twisted to escape it.

With his fingers splayed, he pressed her thighs down flat and read her exposed body with his eyes. He let his hands move over her, enjoying all of the curves she had to offer. Everything he did felt good, but all she really wanted was something to answer the need between her legs. Her moan grew higher pitched when his hands moved near where she wanted them. His thumbs glided up her slit, already getting coated by the wetness that was not only covering her sex, but actually dripping down her body. He pressed against her lower lips with his thumbs to open her more, feeling her body arching and flexing to get him to touch her. Being wanted by her like that made him hard as steel with only a mattress pressing against his dick. That mattress didn't feel half as good as he knew her tight little body would feel.

He could tell what she wanted him to do, and so he didn't do it. He felt he was born to avoid giving her what she wanted too easily. He wanted her wanting him. His hands were heavy on her, holding her still. His tongue dabbled at her entrance, sampling her juices before reaching into her narrow tunnel.

She stubbornly refused to ask for what she wanted, but he liked that she didn't. He liked that she could be every bit as obstinate and strong as he was. She reached for her clit just like he knew she would, because Cuddy was a woman who would take what she wanted if it wasn't given to her. He grabbed both of her wrists and held them behind her hips along the curve of her ass. With both of their hands trapped there, she couldn't interfere with his plans but he could still direct the tilt of her pelvis.

"Behave," he cautioned cheekily while he watched her scowl. The scowl melted away when he sucked her nub between his lips and rolled it around with his tongue. He changed the pressure and speed of what he was doing to keep her guessing, only allowing a rhythm long enough to make her anticipate it before he would change it. He used his hands to bring her whole body up to his mouth.

Once he was sure that he convinced her to let him take care of things, he let go of her hands. One of his hands grabbed her ass cheek so he could keep controlling the rise and fall of her hips. Then he used the other hand to help stimulate her. He allowed two fingers to toy with her opening, just pressing the tips of them up against her. Right when she was going to complain, he shoved the fingers inside her. When he increased the pace of his fingers and the speed of his tongue, she came all over him, the gushes of wetness covering his hand.

He licked at her softly while she settled down, knowing that she would let him have more if he was patient. She started to get back in the mood again, moaning delicate little noises while he touched her. Rolling partway onto his side and unzipping his pants, he took out his cock, distracting her with his mouth. With her wetness still coating his fingers, he started to pump his dick. His slippery hands felt good, and he liked using her juices as lube while he jerked off. Waiting wasn't an option any more.

She could tell something was different and looked down to see what he was doing. "No way," she complained, shoving him off her.

"Oh come on," he argued, "you're killin' me."

She looked satisfied that he was so in need, like maybe she proved that he needed it more than she did.

He inched down the bed and said, "Fine, I'll do it the bathroom."

Before he could escape, she pushed his shoulders down on the bed and moved between his legs. "I don't think you understand."

In one move, she pulled his pants and boxers farther down his legs to expose a raging hard on and took his plump head into her mouth, sucking her cheeks tight around him. He lifted on his elbows so he could watch her. She repaid some of the torment. After she sucked his tip for a bit, she started to lick him like a popsicle. Catching some of the fluid that leaked from him with the tip of her tongue, she seemed to savor the taste. Her lips moved down the underside, sucking along the fat vein. He listened for the subtle sounds of her mouth on him, those little sucks and pops that their body parts would make together.

He thought about the fact that she was licking her own juices off his straining erection and it almost made him cum. Her position changed and she started swallowing as much of him as she could, using her hands to surround the part of his cock that she couldn't take. Her head bobbed up and down at the perfect pace, her lips wrapping tight around the head before she'd swoop down on him again.

She could feel the tension building in him, but she knew from the louder, gruffer groans that came from his chest that he was close. He tapped her shoulder to warn her anyway, quickly and rapidly touching her skin because he knew he was going to go fast and hard. She didn't move away, she was more than willing to let him cum in her mouth. Without really thinking, he pushed her away, rolling her onto her side before he propped himself over her.

He put his cock at her entrance, poised and ready if she'd allow him. "Is it OK?" he asked, his voice tight with arousal, sweat forming along his temples and across his forehead from want alone.

Her expression was concerned, wanting him to remember her circumstance but not wanting to ruin the hot atmosphere, "If you're sure," she answered.

Before she finished her answer, he was in her. This time when she reached between her legs, he didn't try to stop her. He held onto her for a minute while her body accepted him and then he started to plunge into her. He could hear his balls slapping obscenely against her and feel the squish that was produced by his cock thrusting into her sopping wet hole. He was fucking out of complete desperation, needing that orgasm like he needed Vicodin, water or air. He shouted when he came, still pounding into her, shooting hot streams of gism against her cervix until she drained every bit from him.

She might have worried that he only came in her because he was possessed by the heat of the moment, but when he woke her from sleep, she could feel he was hard again. He pulled her leg over him and whispered, like he did earlier, "Is it OK?"

She tilted her body and shifted toward him to allow him entrance without using words to answer. They swayed and pivoted their hips with synchronicity, building slowly to an intense orgasm in the middle of the night. He stayed in her for as long as she let him.

In the morning, she whispered to him that he could stay and let himself out when he was ready, but she had to go to her appointment.

When she came home hours later, he was sitting in the kitchen, brooding. "You're still here?" she asked while she looked through her cupboards.

"I can go."

"I don't mind. I just assumed you'd be gone."

He kept spinning his glass on the table in a puddle of condensation, so she tried to start a conversation, "Everything went fine. Of course I won't know for about ten days if it actually worked. Then I'll have to get through the first trimester without a miscarriage, but-"

House still didn't answer. He looked sullen, excluded and lonely.

"You know, while I was in there, I realized that I'm supposed to be thinking about motherhood and achieving my dreams. But instead, I'm on the table, waiting and hoping that this works out, and all I can feel is this sense of loneliness in a way that I've never really felt before. Maybe it's because I know that if it doesn't work-."

She sighed and stood quietly near him for a minute, and then he asked with unhidden frustration, "Did you pick someone else?"

"You told me not to tell you. I agree it's for the best. That way it isn't defined. Just like us."

"I want to know."

"No you don't. You just think you do right now," she answered and began to pace. "Once you actually know, it won't be good. No matter what the outcome, it will drive us apart until-"

He stood in front of her, no longer letting her move, but he didn't have a response.

She started to argue again, but he silenced her with a rough kiss, the kind that covered her mouth, and scratched her skin with his scruff. She kissed back, the two both desperate and angry, searching for something neither really knew how to ask for. He was unbuttoning her jeans, shoving them down her body, she started to do the same thing to him.

"If you wanted to be part of this," she continued to argue while they were taking off clothing, "All you had to do was say so. All you had to do was tell me that-"

He kissed her again in interruption, lifting her onto the table and pulling back to make sure she could see him as he entered her. He needed her to acknowledge what was going on, but he couldn't say that. He took a few shallow thrusts, gradually working himself in her because they didn't have lots of foreplay to build them up this time. When he was buried to the hilt, he pressed one palm against her face and said, "There's no reason to feel lonely." Before she could answer, he kissed her once more, quickly, and then they fucked in her kitchen like it was the first sex they'd had in years.

When they finished, they both seemed awkward and stunned, neither having expected their argument to go the way it did. They were both dressed and less exposed as quickly as possible. "I should go," he mumbled while he was looking for something, finally finding his coat in the living room.

"What is this all about?" she asked with her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Because you keep having sex with me and I know that you know the risks here. This is intentional. So do you actually want me to have your child, or maybe you just don't want me to have someone else's. Is that it?"

"I just-"

"Tell me. You just-"

"I just want to know there's a chance that it is. That if it happens for you, there's a chance I'm part of it."

"House," she said in a gentle way, "You-"

"I need to leave," he answered abruptly. He plopped his cane down decisively as he went to the door, and he said one final thing to her before he left, "I hope it works for you. You shouldn't have to feel so alone."


	3. Chapter 3

**# # # Nine months earlier # # # **

After the day of Cuddy's IUI procedure, neither she nor House mentioned what had happened between them, or the implications of their time together. She sent him an email almost two weeks later that had only one symbol: "+."

He didn't comment on her pregnancy to her or anyone else, and she didn't speak to him about it directly either. She planned to announce her pregnancy to the board as soon as the greatest risk of miscarriage was over. Of course the hospital was already alive with rumors because a careful observer could tell she was beginning to show and many people in the hospital already knew that Cuddy hoped to become a mother. The change was slight, but in a person of her size, they could tell. With that change came the inevitable rumors, running the gamut of possibilities.

Two days after she informed the board of her circumstance, she was walking down the hall when she heard House, screaming at a patient's parents, "Well, I should definitely do whatever you think is best. After all a tax accountant and a linguistics professor definitely understand diagnostic medicine better than an actual diagnostician. Let's form a damn prayer circle and see if a bright beam of light shoots down from the sky and eradicates the rapidly growing mass in your daughter's head."

"That's uncalled for," the mother shouted.

"Is it? You fought to get here and now you don't want to listen to what I'm telling you. Do what you want, but when she dies in the next few days, remember, I didn't kill her, even the mass in her head didn't kill her-you did."

"House," Cuddy yelled as she approached, "outside. Wait for me in the hall."

"Are you going to convince them not to kill their daughter? Because if not, I might as well go home."

She poked the top of his chest with her fingertip, a strange gesture that seemed to snap him out of his rage and make him listen, "Wait for me there." He walked out to the hallway with more difficulty than normal.

When Chase approached House in the corridor, they began arguing about the case. Chase was agreeing with Cuddy's approach to the patients. When Cuddy left the patient's room, she heard House tell Chase, "Well, you go hide behind Cuddy's skirt and the two of you can help the parents pull the plug."

"At least I'm not the one under Cuddy's skirt," Chase retorted before he knew Cuddy was behind him. "Or—on second thought, maybe I am."

House smirked at Chase with a very cocky expression because he knew Cuddy could hear him. "Excuse me?" she asked, her eyes narrow with rage.

The boastful smile on Chase's face left when he turned to find Cuddy behind him. "A joke. You probably misheard."

"Did I?"

"Yea, I'm sure. I was saying that-"

She stared, waiting for an explanation while her eyes were afire. "Go home, Dr. Chase."

"You can't fire him," House argued.

"Actually, I can," she answered, "but I'm not. Dr. Chase, go home for the rest of the day. Ten am tomorrow, you and I have a meeting in my office to discuss this."

Chase nodded and took a few steps away before Cuddy stalled him. She spoke softly but he heard her loud and clear, "If you ever say something like that again, you are fired on the spot." She started walking down the hall, ordering House, "My office. Now."

Cameron was coming toward the room. Cuddy stopped to talk to her, holding House's jacket sleeve so he wouldn't try to escape. Cuddy was able to get the parents to sign the consent forms, so she gave them to Cameron, telling the younger woman to set everything up and report all results or problems directly to Cuddy.

Once they got in the elevator, he jerked his sleeve out of her grasp, "I'll go peacefully, Mommy," he grumbled.

As soon as her office door was shut, he sat down in her chair and sunk down into it, slouching sulkily. She didn't even bother arguing with him to get him out of her chair. She stood next to her desk, and asked, loudly, "What in the hell is going on?"

"I'm saving lives. Nothing's changed."

"Those people were so upset they almost pulled their child out of this hospital."

"So let them. They're morons. Why bother getting me to take the case if they won't listen?"

"They just needed someone with an ounce of compassion to present it to them in a way they understood. They signed the consent form for me after two minutes. So-"

"Well, you're so maternal these days. That leech in your uterus is making you soft."

"Leech. So this is about my pregnancy?"

"Nope," House said, taking pens from her desk drawer and rolling them onto the floor.

She picked up the pens from the floor and took the rest from his hand, tossing them in the drawer and slamming it shut. She spun the chair so he was facing her, "Why are you having such a hard time with this?"

"I'm not. I've always been an asshole. Did you think knowing someone who was knocked up was going to make me discover my softer side? Newsflash-I'm not suddenly hopeful for the future or considering a foray into humanitarianism."

"Knowing someone? You're right, it's completely unfathomable that you'd have anything to do with this pregnancy. At the very least, you were the only person who knew about it. So in some way, you were involved."

"You were the one who wanted to ruin your life. It doesn't impact me in the least."

"You're acting like a child."

"Feeling the urge to hold me?" He grabbed his bottle of Vicodin and took one, swallowing so he was sure she saw exactly what he was doing. "I'm acting like me. If you didn't see that before, whose fault is that?"

He tried to stand up, but she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down into the chair. "Talk to me."

His eyes were heavy, and lifted slowly because of the heaviness until he was looking at her. He waited too long for it to be believable, but answered, "There's nothing to talk about."

"There isn't? So this doesn't bother you at all? You're screaming at everyone who walks past you. You're taking so much Vicodin I feel like I should be checking your vitals every hour."

He pulled her hand off his shoulder. He was rough and forceful while he took two of her fingers and put them against his scratchy neck to check his pulse. "Satisfied?"

"No." She lifted her hand to his jaw and lifted his face, "When is the last time you've eaten?"

"Two minutes."

"Something besides Vicodin."

"I don't know. I must have left my food journal at home."

"Have you been sleeping?"

"During most of my clinic hours," he said without an emotion to be found.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"Afraid? I'm not afraid. You're the one who's so scared of being alone that you're trying to grow eighteen years of affection. You think that is going to make your dreams come true?" he pointed at her belly.

"Fuck you."

She tried to walk away but he grabbed her wrist, pulling her in front of him so he could stare up at her. He only shrugged, a hint of surrender in his eyes, or maybe it was just exhaustion. "What can I do?"

"Nothing."

"Go lie down on my sofa while I finish up here. I'll take you home."

"I have a patient."

"And you aren't allowed to have any contact with her or her parents. Cameron will take care of it, she'll call me and I'll relay the results to you. I think your diagnosis is correct and the biopsy will prove it. If it does, your work is done anyway. Stop fighting me for a few hours. This is exhausting and you look like hell."

"I'm not going to be your stand-in baby while you wait for yours to come out. Which is going to hurt like hell, by the way."

"You said nothing has changed. The House I know would never turn down the chance to nap in the boss' office during working hours."

He didn't speak to her much at all when they went back to his apartment after she was done with work. They ate frozen pizza while the television blared something they weren't even watching. When she came back from the bathroom he hooked her elbow and brought her next to him on the sofa so she was sitting with her leg almost touching his. She turned to him, wrapped her delicate hand around his rough face and said, "You will be alright. There's no reason why you and I can't be friends. If you want to hang out with me and-"

He put his finger against her lips to silence her. "Your breasts are fuller."

"I know."

"Your hips are rounder too. So is your ass."

"Are they?"

"Yea. It looks good on you."

"Thank you, but we can't do this," she quickly added.

"Do what? I'm just curious."

"You've seen pregnant women before."

"Yea, but they tend to sue if I unzip."

"House," she admonished moving back from him.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"I'm sure you know that I'm not. This isn't about that. This is about not adding more confusion to an already messed up situation."

"Let me see your body."

"No. That is a very bad idea," she answered, her voice already showing a quiver.

He sat back in his corner of the sofa, moving his hands onto his thighs, "I won't touch. I just want to see you."

Her pussy was thundering, screaming for her to take steps even though she knew it was a bad idea. "I don't want to hurt you. Or me. I don't want either of us to get hurt."

"I already hurt." She looked like she could scream or maybe cry, kiss him or choke him, but that sad look had always killed her. Then he spoke in the low, sexually energized, rumbling voice that drove her wild, "And I want to do a lot of things to you, things that won't hurt. But since you don't want me to, I won't touch you."

He could see her arguing with herself, he watched the way her thighs tightened under her skirt and could already see her nipples poking at her bra. She spoke just above a whisper, "The problem is that I want you to touch me."

The battle was lost, they both knew it. "That isn't a problem for me."

His eyes were so sad and lonely it shot a pained jolt through her. They were facing each other, both of their heads resting against the back of the sofa. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked, worriedly.

"You're going kiss me."

She chuckled at his certainty and then couldn't stop thinking about doing exactly what he wanted until she finally started to act on it. She wanted to end his loneliness, even if it was only for a short time. And she craved a touch as well. She was the one who came closer, and once they were close enough, her lips found his before her tongue opened his mouth. They kissed with mouths slow, wet and demanding while they melted into the pleasure of touching and being touched. His hands remained in his lap. She stood up so suddenly that he thought she was going to leave, but she stepped between his knees and pushed them apart. While she stood between his legs, she started to strip.

Her hands almost felt like they were shaking while she disrobed, not with embarrassment or uncertainty but with desire. When her breasts were exposed, he asked her to stop. He sat up, looking more intensely at them, observing the darker areolas and already thicker jut of nipples. When he spoke, his question was simple, "Touch or don't touch?"

She leaned down and grabbed his hand, brought it to her breast and breathed a little heavier as soon as his calloused fingers touched her body. They were both disrobing then, but once she was entirely undressed, he pushed her back a step so he could see all of her at once. She was just a little thicker through the middle, her hips a little curvier, her body a bit more feminine (a feat that he didn't realize was possible).

He brought her to the sofa, sitting her across his lap while he decided to play with her newly changed body. He sucked on her nipples, which were so much more sensitive to the slightest touch, realizing that he also had to be gentler in the way that he touched her. There was no doubt how much she wanted him. When his hand followed her thigh to the top and his thumb bumped her sex, he could see the fireworks of sensation zipping through her. She grabbed his hand and held it still, "Careful."

He nodded, one arm wrapped around her torso to hold her near, while his other hand spread her labia. Her back arched involuntarily, she was already wordlessly begging for attention. He barely pressed her clit with the tip of his finger and she moaned out a long, slow moan. Tapping on in it subtly, more like wiggling his finger against her, he was making her squirm in his lap. Figuring out exactly what she wanted was the most erotic experiment he had ever tried. He watched her face each time for clues, her reactions went straight to his cock where they made him throb with desire.

He could feel the folds of her sex were more swollen than they were before, her wetness more creamy on his skin. When he pushed his fingers into her body, he could hear the moist sound of finger-fucking her. After a few shallow presses with his fingers up against her g-spot, she came, grabbing at his hand so he couldn't leave. As unexpectedly as she came, she shoved him away, ordering, "I want your cock in me right now."

There were a few seconds where he had a look on his face that she would always remember. He looked almost happy, definitely unworried. The look struck her so suddenly that it almost made her hesitate, but instead, she offered an honest smile in return before she said, "Take off your pants, House."

He could get undressed very quickly for a person with a bad leg. She took his hand, leading him back to the bedroom. She stopped in the hall, leaning back against the wall while they were messing around. He stooped and reached under her thighs, lifting her while her back rested against the wall. She felt him poking at her entrance, seeking permission. She was already pushing against him, feeling him gain access to her dripping, quivering core.

He managed to plunge twice into her pussy before she came. Her body was milking him, squeezing him hard, demanding pulses that made him bite his lip to keep from blowing his load before he was even in motion. He had no problem keeping her up against the wall, the endorphins that surging in his body along with the pleasured feeling of being in her made him immune to any pain or weakness. Nothing in his body felt pain. He was being gentle, something that she desperately needed when he was touching her clit, but she didn't want at all when he was filling her with inch after inch of his delicious cock. She bit his earlobe and whispered raspily, "Harder."

He groaned, much louder than he thought he would when he backed away and nailed her against the wall. His thrusts weren't fast, he'd pull out of her and then slam their bodies together again with her pinned between him and the wall. Each time he was completely in her, she would gasp or moan, several times having smaller orgasms that were building to something bigger. His pace started to quicken because he had to cum. His balls were so heavy, lifted, thick and ready to blow, there was no way he could ignore what he needed to have and nothing could stop him anymore. She heard him mutter as he pounded into her that she felt so good, and he kept repeating words to that effect.

Right before he came, he groaned, "Oh my god, Cuddy," before his grip tightened so hard on her that she knew there would be marks left behind where his hands clenched her. She loved how tight he held her to him, wanting the marks that would appear on her ass from his firm grip while he banged her against the wall. His stubble rubbed on her shoulder, neck and chest, also leaving behind evidence of their hot session. Her body was covered with proof of what they were doing when no one was around.

He felt his body unleash in her, all of the tension and frustration from earlier in the day unloading while he came in her. His body spilled every bit of his passion in her. When he finished, he realized she was recovering from another orgasm he didn't even notice she was having, their sexes, still twitching and jerking against each other. He leaned against her while he put her on the ground, while they shared a sloppy appreciative kiss while he used his arms to keep him upright.

His body was spent, almost devoid of any strength at all. "Can I stay for a little while?" she asked.

The sentiment was nice, something he should have wanted to hear, but instead it made him remember how fleeting this time was. One sex was over, there was only a small window where they could still comfortably touch each other. Any contact between them apart from sex seemed awkward and even forbidden.

Within two hours, he was in his bed, alone, staring at the ceiling, lonelier than he was before.

* * *

**# # # The Morning of Nathaniel's Surgery # # #**

It was the day of Nathaniel's heart surgery. The surgeons were convinced his problems would be easily reparable. Cuddy was dizzy with worry, sitting alone in the recovery room, waiting for news of her son. The staff were less than pleased that she refused to wait in the surgical waiting area, but she told them the only other option was to join them in the OR.

A half-hour after the boy was taken back into the OR, House came into the recovery room. "I need your approval on a procedure."

He sat next to her on one of the gurneys, their legs hanging down over the sides. The patient file was in his hand, but he put it on the gurney next to him and didn't really say anything else about the case. Sitting next to her, his arm touched hers. It looked like they were simply sitting next to each other, but she could feel the way he was being there for her. House noticed a number of doctors and nurses finding excuses to be in the observation areas looking into the OR and the recovery room.

"I think, they're all waiting to see if I break," she told him calmly.

"They're idiots. If I couldn't break you, I don't think anything can."

"Or maybe they're trying to figure out what your role is in all of this."

"Probably," House commented, taking notice when he saw his team approach. He waved them closer and Cuddy was, at first, irritated that he was so welcoming to them.

When all three members of his team stood outside of the recovery room and hit the intercom to ask how things were going, House asked, "Something with my patient?"

"She's doing great," Foreman announced, "seems to be responding well to treatment."

Foreman, Chase and Cameron all looked like they were awaiting House's pleased response. When he did speak, he said, pretending to be cheery, "That's just great. You guys don't really have anything to do then?"

"What do you want us to do?" Chase asked.

"Name it," Cameron affirmed, looking sweetly at Cuddy.

"Well, you can make sure that no one else comes back here until after Cuddy's kid is moved to his room. If I see another doctor, nurse or student enter the observation bay, you're all fired," House answered.

"We can't control what other people do," Cameron argued, but when the door began to open, Foreman and Chase practically ran to prevent any entry.

The team disappeared from the observation room, and the steady stream of gawkers disappeared, too.

"You need approval for a procedure for a patient who is already being treated?" Cuddy asked, looking at the patient file he brought as a pretense.

"I figured while she was here we'd just test her for a bunch of other stuff," he lied with the tiniest empathetic smile.

Cuddy regarded House with obvious appreciation and sighed her relief. She leaned into his arm a bit more after her eyes went to the clock and realized how long her son had been in surgery.

"Want me to go in?" he offered.

"No."

After thinking on it, House said, "I guess you didn't really want me getting in the way before. Why would you now?"

"What do you mean?"

"That's why you didn't choose me outright as your donor when I first offered, right? You were always worried that at some point, I'd decide to mess up what you had or I'd want to infiltrate your lives, ruin your kid."

Cuddy shook her head slowly, "You're wrong this time, House."

"Am I?" he asked evenly. "It isn't that I mind, if I were you , I wouldn't want me around either."

She dropped her head and began to speak very carefully, "I didn't tell you—because you asked me not to. But the reason I continued to not tell you isn't because I was afraid you'd be too involved. I was afraid you'd push us away. You push away people when you don't want to get hurt and you don't want to hurt them. This way, you're not obligated, but there's enough mystery to keep you wondering. I don't want you out of his life, I want you in it. I want you in mine. And if the only way I can have you is this weird, dysfunctional professional relationship-then I'll take that over nothing."

"Dysfunctional?" he said, only because he was too confused to say anything else. He couldn't believe that she wanted him there.

"Yea. You can barely stand to be near me unless we're having sex or arguing. We have amazing, mind-blowing sex that we seem to keep having even though we shouldn't, and when we're not having sex, we can't even shake hands without cringing. We're fucked up."

House seemed to be taking the moment to formulate something profound and then he laid his hand on top of hers on the gurney and said, "Nuh-uh."

She smiled at their hands, hooking one of her fingers up over one of his. "For however long you decide to stay, I'm glad you're here."

Reber entered the recovery room like a prize fighter after the fight of a lifetime. "We were able to go in through the groin," he announced proudly. "We didn't have to open his chest. Everything was textbook. We'll have to monitor him closely for infection or any signs of distress but so far so good."

Cuddy looked dazed, House wondered if she had been expecting bad news. "He's OK?" she asked, her voice strong even though she looked like she could pass out.

"Wait until Sloane at General hears about this. We have a friendly wager on it," Reber bragged.

"Yes, we're very impressed," House griped. "If you're going to bet on the success of a surgery, it's unwise to tell your boss, who is also the patient's mother, about it."

Reber was unhappily caught in headlights until the door opened and a nurse wheeled the child into the recovery room. Cuddy went to the baby's side. She was doing her own assessment of the boy, relieved to see that he was alive and well. When she turned back, she didn't see House, which didn't really surprise her, but she felt a sadness about him being gone that she tried to forget.

When Cuddy was finally able to pick up her son, she turned around to the back corner of the room where there were rockers, and found that House hadn't left. He was sitting quietly in the corner with his legs propped on another rocker, playing a handheld game, silently waiting on the outskirts of their lives.

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**# # # Five Months Earlier # # #**

House overheard part of a conversation between Wilson and Cuddy that caught his interest. Cuddy was to be the recipient of a prestigious award for her work running the hospital. Everyone at the hospital had heard about the award, but House didn't care much for things like awards and award ceremonies. When he heard Wilson apologizing to her for something, House had to know what it was.

After Cuddy was gone, he followed Wilson to his office.

"What did you do and why are you sorry?" House asked when Wilson greeted him.

"This awards dinner is tonight. I was supposed to take Cuddy, but I have to fill in at an oncology seminar this evening in Boston."

"She asked you to go?"

"Not exactly," Wilson replied, "I offered. She wanted to take her mother, which I thought was a great idea. What mother wouldn't be proud of her daughter winning an award like that, especially so early in their career?"

"Her mom isn't going?"

"Her mother said she wasn't about to escort her to the ceremony. Apparently, she's not terribly happy about the circumstances of her daughter's pregnancy. The whole conversation went downhill fast."

"Did she freak out?"

"Cuddy? No. She said it was no big deal, but she seemed disappointed. So I offered to take her."

"If you aren't, who is?"

"No one. I gave her a few names of people who would gladly go along, but she said at this point she was happier going alone."

"She didn't ask me."

Wilson looked on suspiciously, "You? No. She can't even get you to show up in the clinic. Why would she even ask?"

That night, Cuddy accepted her award. She stood up on the stage wearing a beautiful black gown that followed her figure. There was no point in attempting to hide a pregnancy at that point. A careful but ambitious exercise program kept her in excellent shape, so there was no need to hide anything else about her figure either.

House sat behind the stage and waited. He listened to Cuddy's speech and the way that she spoke with both confidence and grace. At the end, she thanked a small group of people for helping her to achieve her success. She closed very simply with, "I am very fortunate to have an incredible staff at Princeton-Plainsboro, and our hospital wouldn't be the same without the efforts of each and every person employed there, but I am particularly fortunate to have Doctors Reber and Bloom who are redefining surgical medicine, and Dr. Gregory House, whose amazing medical mind has allowed us to run a department that is really unparalleled in any other hospital around the nation. Without these doctors, we'd just be another small regional teaching hospital."

She stepped off the stage after hearing a rowdy applause and was congratulated by a few people who were waiting for her. When she went to the steps to leave down the back of the stage, she heard a familiar voice, "Where's your date?"

Cuddy turned to a dark landing by the stairs, "I didn't have a date."

"From the looks of you, I thought you ate him."

"I'm only at six months, I'm going to get a lot bigger. What are you doing here?" she said, one hand going to her protruding belly.

"I was curious about who you'd bring to something like this."

"Bringing a date to a professional function is antiquated."

"You didn't ask Wilson?"

"He was supposed to come, but it didn't work out," she admitted.

"You didn't ask me."

"You hate things like this. You think they're hypocritical wastes of time."

"True."

She noticed just then how his fingers were digging into his leg. "Are you OK?"

"Would you have thanked me if you knew I was listening?"

"Oh, that," she said, putting her award on the landing next to him and sitting down. "You have helped to make the hospital what it is."

House pulled out a bottle and offered it to her, "To celebrate."

"Oh, that's actually very thoughtful. But I'm not drinking."

He lifted the bottle into the light to reveal sparkling grape juice. Twisting off the screw-top, he handed the bottle to her while he took out one of his own. He tapped his glass bottle of liquor against hers and they each took a swig.

"You didn't want grape juice?"

"I'm not the one who's knocked up," he said, his fingers still digging into his leg.

"The pain is bad today, isn't it?"

"The pain is bad all of the time. Some days it sucks more than others."

"You didn't have to come here tonight if it was bad."

"I would have missed your confession of love for me in front of all these people."

"I don't think that's quite what I said."

"It was implied."

"Can I take you home?" she asked, noting his level of discomfort.

He turned, his eyes already heavier with want, "Depends on your definition of taking me home. If you mean you want to drop me off at my place before you go home, then no thanks."

He didn't respond, continuing to rub his leg while he drank.

"Let me run you home," Cuddy said. "We'll deal with your car tomorrow."

"I'm fine."

"They had a driver pick me up for the ceremony. Car's nice, has a minibar that I won't use."

Little negotiation was needed after the mention of a minibar. It was a good excuse to allow the ride that he wanted to take anyway.

Once they were in the back of the car, Cuddy closed the privacy barrier so they wouldn't be seen or heard and leaned closer, but House didn't notice until he felt her hand on his arm, and she questioned, "Are you going to come to my place?"

"Seriously?"

"I might be able to help you with your leg. Make you feel better."

"I don't need pity."

"It's not that. I feel like we're running out of time for this sort of thing. We can't keep it going forever."

"Sure we can."

"No we can't. It won't be long before I'll be too huge for sex. After that, I'll be a mom and priorities will have to change. Tonight might be the last time we both want this. I don't think my body will ever be the same."

"Do you know what I think of when I see you like this?"

"Well, in the past few days, you've suggested that I have a tumor, hypothesized that I'm turning into some sort of human nesting doll and accused me of eating my date."

"I think of the day you got pregnant. I think of each position, every sound, every orgasm. That's what I remember. All of the fun stuff that you had to interrupt with an insemination appointment."

She looked out the window, watching the lights as they whipped by. "I remember it, too."

"I remember the things you said when we had sex in the middle of the night and you were too tired and turned on to worry about what you were saying. Do you remember, or should I remind you?"

"I'm not denying any of that. I invited you to come home with me tonight, it's not like I'm hiding my interest. But you want to talk about what's going on? Fine. Why did you come tonight?"

House didn't answer, but when Cuddy didn't relent he responded, "What do you want me to tell you?"

"I can admit it, I want you to come home with me because I want you there. I was happy to see you. I don't know why you showed up, but sometimes you do when I need you. Unfortunately the only man who seems to be there for me also hates me."

"'I've never hated you."

"And he's sensual and attentive, probably the best lover I've had, but every time we have sex he doesn't talk to me for days afterwards."

"I talk to you."

"About work. And even then you're awkward."

"And you're not?"

"Of course I am, because you are. And then when the awkwardness starts to fade, we get closer. And we keep getting closer until we end up in bed together and the whole damn dysfunctional thing starts over again."

House turned and with more anger than she thought he felt, he yelled, "Every time you tell me we can't keep doing this. Are you looking for some kind of joy from me? Should I come to you the next day and compare notes? Am I supposed to be happy about whatever this is when you've already decided it shouldn't be happening?

"Maybe that's part of why it's so good. It's forbidden."

"That's not why it's good."

"House, on some level, we like each other. We don't talk about it, but there's something there. There's an attraction that I don't think we know how to deal with, but what are we hoping would happen? You told me that you have no desire to have a family. I want to have cookouts on Sundays and dress my child up for Halloween and I want to have that maternal bond with another human being. And-I'm already pregnant. That's everything you don't want. I'm not asking you to change. But I'm not going to try to change either. What we have can't work because it won't make us happy."

"We're not happy without it either."

"I know. And I miss you."

"I doubt that."

"Think what you want. I want you to come back with me—if you want to. You can stay the night, stay tomorrow. I'll try to help with your leg. We can have a day together before everything around us starts changing."

"I'm not sure if I can," he answered while he stared out the window.

"I understand. If you change your mind, I'll-"

"No, when the pain is this bad, sometimes I can't."

"Oh," Cuddy moved closer to him, "I think I can help you. I'd like to try."

Her hand moved up his left leg, massaging against his thigh until she reached his package. She grabbed his balls through his jeans before she unzipped him. His dick was soft, which was seldom the case once they were touching. She covered it with her warm hand, softly stroking his member to begin to wake him up. His body responded a little, the pain in his leg still keeping most of his attention, but she could feel his cock begin to thicken in the dark.

He seemed uncomfortable and anxious, and she thought that his mind was probably messing with his ability to get turned on as much as his leg was. Sensing his distraction, she spoke, "Remember the last time we did this? How you held me against the wall?"

He felt a flood of warmth in his groin and she sighed contentedly when she felt his dick lifting away from his body as he became more aroused. I remember the way you looked at my body, the way you made me cum on your hand before we even got started. Do you remember that?"

"Yea," he sighed while he breathed in more sharply.

He reached behind her, lowering her zipper part way down her back. The dress loosened enough for him to expose her bra. He could see shapes and form, but there was too little light to really see her body. When his hand went to her breast and found a tight nipple, she felt another swelling of arousal, urging his hard-on. Once he could touch her, it became clear that he wasn't going to have a problem becoming aroused.

He was trying to lift up her dress, trying to remove her bra, trying to uncover any part of her body. She lifted his hands away, he could feel her mouth moving closer to his almost fully hard cock, and then he pulled her up, "I'll wait."

"For what?"

"For you. We're two minutes from your place. I'll wait. You know I like to look."

"Not tonight," she argued.

"Yes, tonight. It's what I want."

"It's not what I want."

"If I just wanted to hurry and cum in something I could call a hooker."

She stopped trying to touch him, but not for the reason he wanted. She pushed back, leaving an icy space between them augmented by the silence. They pulled up to her place, she turned back and ordered, "Get the driver to take you home," and slammed the car door.

While fiddling with the deadbolt at her front door, she heard him approach, "You forgot your award in the car."

"Keep it. I'll get it tomorrow," she snapped, trying to get inside, but finding it more difficult than it should have been.

"You're overreacting."

"Am I?"

Her shoulder banged into the door when she thought she had it open, but it didn't budge, he was right behind her. He reached around her body, pulling the door the whole way shut and turning the key in the lock to open it. Gesturing for her to walk inside, he said, "Are you going to listen to me now?"

"I've heard enough."

Cuddy was in her house, trying to push the door shut again, but his foot was holding it open. "Are you going to ruin my other leg? Your guilt will never let you live that down."

"Then back away."

He pushed through the door, the exertion was not at all what his leg needed, but he wasn't leaving her like that. She backed up, feeling in her purse and producing pepper spray.

"You don't need that," he explained. "You know I'm not going hurt you."

"I don't know if I'm even sure of that."

"Don't say shit like that because you're mad at me for something else."

"For future reference, never call a woman who is about to perform fellatio on you a hooker unless she is one. Of course, this applies to women other than me because there is absolutely no chance I will ever do that for you again. Leave or I'll call the police."

He was walking toward her, directing her to the chair in her living room without touching her. His hands were soon braced against the arms of the chair on either side of her, but he didn't touch her. "I did not call you a hooker," he said, leaning down so their faces were aligned. "I did the opposite. I told you that you weren't like a hooker. I told you what happens between us isn't the same thing. I told you that being with you isn't just about getting off. OK?"

She didn't want to look at him, he could see she was still hurt even while she was thinking about it.

He argued with quiet certainty, "I've never treated you like a hooker. Not for a second. I've never treated you like a one night stand or a mistake either. I didn't make you go down on me, I've never even asked for that. I did not show up at that ceremony to get a blow job."

"Then why did you?"

He reached forward, kissing her. She kissed back immediately, her tongue seeking his, her lips nipping at his lips both with anger and desire. Their bodies didn't touch though. He was still leaning down on the arms of the chair, she was still seated in that chair, but the only spot of contact was at their mouths. He pulled her up to him by putting his hands under her elbows. He started shifting the dress up off of her body. "Admit that I've never treated you like a whore."

"You haven't."

"Say it to me."

House sat her back down on the chair and leaned her back, using an ottoman to lower himself to the floor even though his leg still ached. "You've never treated me like a whore," she confessed.

He hooked his elbows under her knees and pulled her forward. "See, I think you want me to say something terrible like that so you can justify walking away from me and cutting me off. I'm not going to make it that easy for you."

He leaned lower between her legs, his tongue sliding along the welcoming, soaked slit to swirl around her clit. Her back arched immediately, and she moaned in a long, sultry, permissive way. Her belly was partially blocking the normal view that he had of her, but wasn't yet truly difficult to deal with. Her sex was more swollen than it ever had been previously, the flesh there even darker than usual and still quite sensitive.

Knowing from before exactly how sensitive she had become, he was more careful about controlling her responses, his hands kneading into her thighs and the areas around her pussy to stimulate the entire area. Her orgasm started to approach before he was ready, so he stopped licking and sucking, but kept two fingers in her, pulsing them toward the front of her body. That didn't stop her orgasm though. He wasn't even moving and she came anyway, jerking her hips so powerfully that she was actually fucking his fingers while he remained still.

She seemed to ignore any sort of need for a refractory period, because she stood up and pushed him into the chair she had been sitting in. His jeans were open and she pulled his cock through the opening in his boxers because she seemed to be in an incredible hurry. She didn't offer any build up, she wrapped her lips around his cock and immediately took as much of him as she could in her mouth. Her hands kept a tight grip around the base, while he could feel his glans bumping the soft space at the back of her throat.

From the chair, he was looking out over her body. She was kneeling in front of him, so he could see the curve of her ass and the way she rocked while she bobbed up and down on his dick. Her mouth felt so good, but the sight of her round, firm ass in the air while she worked his length was driving him to the top quickly. Then he had a momentary picture in his mind of grabbing those hips and drilling into her from behind, and that image triggered the impending orgasm. He tapped her shoulder again but she already knew he was going to explode because she could hear the betraying short, stuttered grunt from deep in his chest and she took him as deeply as she could. His dick jerked with the strength of his orgasm, shooting his cum into her waiting mouth. He curled forward, his abdominal muscles visibly tensing, leaning toward her when he came while he tried not to grab her head and shove into her as deeply as possible because he was on sensory overload.

When he had enough control over his body to open his eyes, she had a confident grin on her face while she approved of his slow return to homeostasis. She started to stand up on her own, but he reached out, even in his sated state, and helped her to her feet. Those were the tiny things he did that tended to draw her to him, the little considerate things that would go unnoticed by most people but seemed so noteworthy when they came from him. "Do you want to get a bath? I kinda want to try sex in the tub."

She filled the bath with hot water. It wasn't quite as hot as he wanted it, but she had to avoid truly scalding baths because of her pregnancy. He sat in the oversized tub and she sat between his knees, leaning back against his chest in a way that was surprisingly comfortable.

His arm was against the side of her belly and they were both in a peaceful state of near sleep when he felt the push of the fetus against his arm. He pulled back, startled from his restful condition.

"What's wrong?" Cuddy asked.

"It's moving," House answered, poking her stomach and seeing a small flutter in return.

"He."

"What?"

"He kicked you. My baby is a boy. I just found out."

"You weren't on the ultrasound schedule, so how did you find out?"

"I went to my obstetrician's office, not the hospital." She sat up and turned to him, "You looked at the schedule?"

"Yea."

"Why didn't you just ask?"

"Seemed easier to check the schedule."

"Did you want to come?"

"No," he answered right away, pulling her back against him again. "But if you wanted my medical opinion I would have looked."

Before she could respond, he tightened his arms around her, rubbing his nose along her neck and focusing on turning her on again. Tub sex sounded too good to ignore.

* * *

**# # # Two Weeks After Nathaniel's Surgery # # #**

House went into Cuddy's room on the day the baby was finally being released from the hospital. A diaper bag was packed in the room and Cuddy sat on a rocker in the corner, nursing the child. When House realized what he was interrupting, he asked, "You want me to come back later?"

"You can come in," she offered, her voice barely audible. "Just shut the curtain behind you." He walked in, sitting on another chair and looking out the window. "If you're uncomfortable, you can come back later," she mentioned.

"I'm not," he answered immediately, purposefully looking at her and the child. He liked being allowed into Cuddy's life in ways that others were not. She was frequently allowing him access to her personal world.

A minute later, Cuddy sat her baby facing forward on her lap, looking out while she braced his chest and burped him. The child was no longer lethargic. He was kicking his body back, demanding more food and learning to control his muscles. His formerly ashen skin was pink, his movement robust, and his eyes wide with the excitement of discovering the world.

When Cuddy didn't meet the boy's wishes immediately, he furrowed his brow and tried to fling his head back with an angry yell.

House smirked approvingly, "Maybe I should try that the next time you send me to the clinic."

"It's not working for him either," she answered. "If I give in before he burps, he'll have gas, it'll hurt and he'll cry. Maybe you guys should accept the fact that sometimes I know what's best and stop fighting everything."

The baby grunted when he finally relented and seemed to accept Cuddy's rhythmic smacking on his back, but his face still showed his disapproval.

"Don't give in, Nate," House counseled, "don't let her break your spirit."

"Nate?"

"You aren't actually going to call him Nathaniel all the time, are you? You expect him to learn that in kindergarten when other kids are writing Sam or Tom?"

"No, it's not that," she said while she started to feed him again, finally ending the child's complaint, "You've never called him by a name before. I just didn't expect it. I wasn't sure if I wanted to use Nate or Nathan."

"You can't shorten his name to something that would normally be further shortened. People don't call me Gregor."

"Not many people call you Greg either."

"True."

"It sounded good when I heard you say Nate. I think I like it."

House stared off for a moment and then asked, "When can he leave?"

"I should have the discharge papers this afternoon."

"You want me to drive you home so you can sit with him in the car and make stupid faces while speaking in the high-pitched creepy mom voice?"

"You want to drive us home?"

"I could. Gives me an excuse to leave work for a few hours while I pretend like I'm going to help you carry all of his crap inside."

"OK," she responded, trying to seem as unaffected as possible.

He went back to his office while Cuddy waited for the paperwork so she could finally take Nate home. When everything was ready, she put the child in his infant carrier, slung the diaper bag over her shoulder and went down to House's office. She stepped backwards into the room because she was answering a question for an employee in the hallway, and said victoriously while she entered, "We're finally ready to go home."

The smiled slowly left her face when she realized that House was not alone. Cuddy had only ever seen them from a distance, but House's parents were standing in his office. Cuddy's eyes went immediately to House's with concern, then she met the extremely disapproving snarl of John House. "I don't know who you are," he said in a very unfriendly way, "and my son must be too much of a genius to remember his manners and introduce us."

Cuddy slowly extended a hand and said, "Lisa Cuddy," offering no additional information.

"You run this hospital," Blythe House said, extending a much more welcoming hand to Cuddy. "I remember you."

"Nice to see you," Cuddy answered. She said to House, "Sorry to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting," Blythe answered, looking down at the baby in the carrier. "Who is this adorable little boy?"

When Cuddy saw the look on House's face, she had no idea what to do, so she offered the simplest answer, "This is Nate."

"Can I hold him? It has been years since I've held a baby."

"Mom," House complained.

"Oh, she doesn't mind humoring an old woman, do you?" Blythe asked, already removing the carrier from Cuddy's hand and putting it on the lounge chair to unbuckle the baby. Cuddy acknowledged, briefly, a similarity between House and his mother while the woman did what she wanted without necessarily having permission.

"Of course not," Cuddy answered.

House could only respond with a shrug of disbelieving surrender while he watched his mom lift the child into her arms.


	5. Chapter 5

**# # # Three Months Earlier # # #**

Cuddy was nearly at full term when Wilson found House leaning against the railing, looking down into the lobby. "How's your patient?" Wilson asked.

"Still loopy, puking and dying," House answered, his eyes on the alert for something.

"What are you doing?"

"Painting you a soothing landscape."

Wilson looked over the side to try to figure out what House was really looking for.

"I was thinking about a marathon poker tournament this weekend. Two days, no showering, lots of booze and food that has absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever."

"Have fun," House answered.

"You aren't interested in that?"

"Cuddy has walked out into the lobby, around the desk, into the clinic and back out at least twenty times in the last hour."

"She's on the rampage?"

"I don't think so."

Wilson waited next to House until they saw Cuddy make her trip around again. "Must be baby-related," Wilson said. "Maybe false labor. If you walk, then it's supposed to calm false labor, and if it's real then the contractions continue."

"Nope."

"What do you mean 'nope'? That's what it does."

"I know. She's not wincing, her breath seems steady, she's not touching her stomach, she doesn't look like she's having contractions."

"Is there a contraction look?"

"Yes."

"OK. You could ask her."

"We're not very talkative right now."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. Sometimes we're talkative, sometimes we're not. Right now, we're not."

Just then, Cuddy emerged from the clinic and looked up at the balcony, waving at the guys before she kept walking. House looked at Wilson for a second before he went to the elevators.

Cuddy was rounding the desk again when House fell in line with her steps. "What are we doing?"

"Walking. What do you need?" she asked.

"To know why we're walking."

"Because it feels good."

"That actually makes sense. Come on," he nodded toward the doors.

"Come on where?"

"Walking. My leg is killing me. We can both walk and I won't get in trouble for missing work."

"Can't today. I have too much to do," she said while he followed her into her office. Once the door was closed, he stood near it and she became more agitated. "Do you know what this is?"

"A paper?"

"An expense report. Why don't I have one from you?"

"Because Cameron didn't do it yet."

"Your department. Your job. Get it done."

He shrugged.

"What does that mean?" she asked getting angrier. Then she whispered, "Do you think that because we occasionally have sex you can do whatever you want?"

"I didn't complete paperwork long before we started having sex-again. And I'm good, but I don't think servicing you a couple of times every few months would buy me a whole lot of favors."

"Servicing?"

"Although I'd be more than willing to meet your needs on a weekly, bi-weekly or daily basis."

"Is that what we were doing? Meeting needs?"

He shifted his weight to one side and leaned on his cane, electing not to answer.

"Get your paperwork done, get it back to me today. I need your monthly report, expense report and evaluations for you team."

"If you need them today, they're going to be really creative. Which is fine by me because mine usually are anyway."

"So go do them."

In defiance of her orders to go, he came in and sat down, "Do you know what they call you?"

"This will be good."

"The iron mama."

"How flattering," she said tonelessly.

"They call you that because no one here has ever heard you complain about your pregnancy. No one hears you complain of backaches, sleeplessness, nausea-nothing. You've never missed a day of work. I know, because there are wagers on it."

"What's your point?"

"Just because people don't hear you complaining about it doesn't mean you don't have those things."

"It's stupid to complain when I've wanted this so much for so long."

"You don't want this part, you want the slimy, crying, utterly dependent human to unconditionally love that will result from this part."

"There's a price to pay for everything. If this is my price to pay, I can take it. Besides, it's not like anyone will listen."

"I will."

"You still have to do your expense report."

"I'll do the expense report, and the monthly thing, but I'm not going to do their evaluations."

"Fine. You have two months to finish the evaluations."

"The deadline is today or in two months?"

"I'm starting maternity leave on Friday."

"Oh," he said, looking shocked.

"It's time for me to meet the utterly dependent human."

House was solving a puzzle, and then leaned forward with his answer, "I'll give you the expense report and monthly report today—in exchange for information."

"You can't negotiate something that you're already required to do."

He stared and waited, because he felt that negotiation was the only option.

"Fine," she said tiredly, "what do you want to know?"

"I'll be back when my stuff is done."

She shook her head as he left. When she went home for the day, she wasn't surprised that she hadn't heard from him or seen his paperwork. At nearly eleven pm, she heard his knock. She was in bed, trying to sleep, and so she thought about ignoring it, but she knew he wouldn't quit and she wasn't anywhere near ready to sleep anyway.

When Cuddy opened the door, she immediately saw the paperwork he had, displayed out in front of him like he was presenting something to royalty. "One expense report and one monthly report. Both make at least vague attempts at accuracy."

She took the papers from his hand while she looked at the woman who standing next to House. Her stomach turned for a moment when she wondered if he was flaunting a date in front of her face, but she tried to remain stoic when she said, "Looks like you have plans, don't let me keep you."

"Actually, you have plans. This is Molly. She is here to make you feel more pleasant."

Cuddy closed her eyes, clenched her jaw and then spoke, "You brought a hooker to my home?"

"Not a hooker," House explained, "an escort."

"No offense," Cuddy said to the waiting woman, "but I don't need to be escorted anywhere and the difference between those two professions is lost on me. House, leave before I fire you."

"I'm a certified massage therapist," the woman explained. "I'm trained to work with women in all stages of pregnancy, including postpartum."

"Oh," Cuddy folded her arms, but maintained skepticism. "What do you want, House?"

"I brought you a massage. She can help with your back, and then when you're less grumpy, you can provide me with the information you owe me because I did my expense report."

"You didn't get it to me until after I was in bed."

"But still technically today."

Molly interrupted, "I've already been paid. And I can make you feel better."

Soon the woman was setting up a massage table with special bolsters to accommodate Cuddy's stomach. When House came into the living room and sat down, Molly shooed him from the room, "No sorry, Greg, you have to go until we're done. I'm trying to relax her."

"I won't say anything."

"Go sit in the kitchen."

Molly helped Cuddy up onto the table. Cuddy regarded her very suspiciously, "Are you really a massage therapist?"

"Yea."

"So why are you also in the escort business?" Cuddy asked while she slipped out of her clothes and under a blanket.

"I have student loans that you wouldn't believe and a house we want to buy. Plus I'm building a customer base for when I start exclusively doing massage."

"We?"

"My fiancée and I. Lie down."

"You're engaged?" Cuddy asked while the woman began the massage. "He doesn't mind that you do this?"

"He's in the same line of work."

Cuddy was silent for a while, relaxing while the woman worked the shoulder muscles.

"I guess now I know why Greg doesn't call anymore," Molly said later after Cuddy flipped over. Molly's hand was on Cuddy's stomach, smiling as she felt the baby moving and kicking. "I haven't heard from him in almost a year. I thought he found a new girl."

"Oh we aren't a—thing. We aren't together."

"Yea, I'm sure. This is a typical man guilt gift when they feel bad for what you're going through because of them."

At the end of the massage, as Cuddy was thanking Molly, the younger woman said, "Be nice to him. Sometimes the tougher they seem, the easier it is to break them."

"What do I owe you?" Cuddy asked immediately.

"Nothing, everything is paid for."

Molly gathered her things, went to the kitchen to say goodbye to House, and left. He went to the living room, sitting next to Cuddy on the sofa. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"Sure. Did you take the happy ending?"

She snorted a chuckle and joked, "I thought about it."

"I guess you're not feeling all that frisky lately."

"On the contrary," she said, yawning, "I masturbate three or four times a day."

House didn't say anything so eventually she looked to see what he was doing. He was sitting on the sofa, sideways, arms folded, staring at her, pleasantly surprised.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Nothing. That's impressive."

"I've been bored and horny."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"And say what? 'Can you come over and have sex with me? I know you find the human nesting doll look very appealing.'"

"That would work."

Cuddy was chuckling, but his response was sincere. She stopped laughing, "I don't want to hurt you. If this was just about sex, I would call you all of the time. But it's not just about sex. The harder I try to pretend it is, the more I realize that it isn't. Which means we need to keep very defined rules."

House winced while he looked away.

"You wanted to know what is going on today," Cuddy stated, trying to change the subject.

"Yea."

"My baby is breech. They did an ultrasound to make sure everything was OK so they could try to do ECV to turn him, and they found something."

"Found what?"

"There's a hole in his heart. They think it might close on its own, but they don't want to try ECV. They're scheduling a C-section for Friday. I'm worried."

"Why didn't they see it before?"

"They saw it now. They'll reevaluate after he's born."

"You should have taken me. I would have found it."

"Well," she said testily, "that's what's going on. Thanks for the massage, you can go."

He didn't move.

"What do you want?" she asked, flopping her hands into her lap.

He leaned over, put his face against her neck, "You know what I want."

Part of her wished that she would be turned off by him. She'd heard of women who, during pregnancy, were unattracted to men in their lives, or to their smell or the feeling of them. She couldn't really have wanted him much more than she did as the fantasies that she'd be considering several times a day, almost always involving him, were on her mind. Then she remembered the utter loneliness and fear she felt while she dealt with the news during her ultrasound without any support around her. She sighed out his name and sounded frustrated, turned on and worried all at once.

She grabbed a fistful of the top of his shirt and pulled him closer. At the same time, she was pushing his clothes away and kissing him, without another hesitation present in her body. He was leaning into her too, because if she wasn't going to resist the omnipresent attraction, he certainly wasn't going to.

From the second they started to kiss, he was bending over her stomach to reach her face and torso, the change very apparent and even frustrating while he tried to get nearer. She was pulling his clothes off faster than he could remove hers and every time she got near him, he could hear her whisper, "God, I want you."

Her need was almost unbearably arousing but she was far more tender than she usually was with him, too. Often it seemed that when they let their physical desires take over, things were to an urgent state already. This felt like the night before her IUI, when they had sleepy, affectionate sex in the middle of the night. The tenderness hurt as much as the desire.

She stood up, bringing him by the hand with her. They were both completely aroused, bodies flushed with desire, and breath quick and ragged. Pressing her back against him, she brought his hand across her chest to hold her to him. She leaned forward on the chair, rocking her ass against his cock. His fingers gently surrounded her neck, feeling the delicate shape of if before following the line of her body down over her sides and to her hips. His chin and mouth found her neck, shoulders and back while his every touch communicated a level of want and a depth of feeling.

She braced her arms on the chair, trying to support her large belly as it pulled her down. He wrapped one arm around her chest between her belly and breasts to help steady her, his other hand guiding his cock into her. Once he was aligned, just an inch or two inside her, his other hand reached for the top of her thigh so he could lift her to him. She could hear him groaning in pleasure as he worked into her. She was amazingly tight, dripping with desire, and wonderfully soft at the same time. He felt his body pushing up against her ass like a firm cushion, and his urges began to win over.

He tested her body, making sure she was ready, and lifted her hips as he pushed fully into her, bottoming out before he normally would. She pulled away from him, gasping with discomfort while she removed her body from his. "What?" he asked, alarmed and a little confused.

"Not so rough."

"I wasn't being rough," he started to argue, but she took him to her room before the mood was broken.

"Just lie down."

As instructed, he got on the bed, lying flat on his back. He looked almost pouty, but she could see the regret on his fact at the thought that he had hurt her.

"Stay still and I'll move. OK?" she asked.

He put his hands behind his head, exaggerating a relaxed state, as he watched her climbing onto him and realized that everything was fine. "If you insist." She started to face away from him, but he tapped her leg, "Turn this way."

She hesitated but he was insistent. If it was going to be their last time, and given the scheduled C-section, it seemed likely that it was, he wanted to watch her face when she came.

She slid his cock along her slit until he was lined up and she sunk down onto him, moaning as each inch slipped into her body. She stopped before she normally would, allowing a few inches of him into her body, but she felt so good and looked so aroused, he didn't mind. She lifted and lowered on him, so much more delicately than they had during their sessions over the last few months. It brought to mind their rougher, more passionate moments, too.

Holding her tummy with one arm, she braced her weight on her other hand where it pushed against his chest. Her body seemed to tire quickly, so he lifted his hands, felt along the muscles of her thighs until he met her hips and helped her to move. He didn't move any quicker or deeper than she was before. Her breasts moved more than they usually did, her areolas dark and inviting, her breasts so full they were difficult not to look at and admire. His hands caressed her forearms, legs, shoulders and neck, touching whatever he thought he could touch without drawing a complaint.

Sex with her that night was an exercise in restraint, but it was wonderful in its way, being forced to be more passive and patient and they both enjoyed the relaxed pace. She moaned loudly, her hips pivoting more furtively. He reached for her clit, but because of the physical constraints of the circumstance, he wasn't able to direct his touch, but he could apply occasional pressure. She was gasping out compliments about how he felt or how she wanted him. She told him she was cumming, it was obvious, but he liked how she was telling him everything that was happening. Her fingernails dug into his sides and the sudden pain triggered his orgasm. He grabbed her hips on instinct alone, and then quickly let go, grabbing the sheets and part of the mattress so he wouldn't drill into her with the strength of his climax.

She fell against him, the end of his dick still nestled in her pussy until she pulled away. "I better pee," she said, snapping the dream-like state of recuperation.

When she came back to bed, she spooned back against him, pulling him to her while they rested. Right before he fell asleep, he heard her say, "I'm really going to miss you."

He put his nose against the top of her spine at her neck, breathing in her scent while his arms were firmly wound around her. "I'll be around," he replied, his voice deep and sleepy.

The comfortable warmth of her bed and naked body felt ripped away when she got up again. He heard her pacing for a few minutes, but after several, he realized she wasn't coming back. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Back spasm."

He watched her covering the distance in her room for a long time, trying to decide what to do. Finally he observed, "You know your so-called back ache is-"

"Yea, it's every six minutes."

Sitting up, House started to get dressed. "I'm going into the hospital," she said, "I need them to stop the labor or do an emergency C-section."

"Agreed."

House disappeared to the living room and returned dressed.

"So maybe I'll see you around the hospital tomorrow?" she asked, her face crinkling as another contraction began.

"Tomorrow?"

"I wasn't implying that you had to come in to visit, I meant I'll see you around at work. Whenever I see you."

"You'll see me when I drive you to the hospital."

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it? You think I'm going to have sex with you and then when you go into labor I'm going to head home and hope you make it to the hospital on your own? The sex probably brought it on, and the prostaglandins are definitely my contribution, a fact that you'll likely remember when you aren't in pain and come to blame me for provoking labor and leaving you alone."

"Any number of factors could have done it."

"But that's the one you're going to remember. And do you really think you should drive?"

"I can, I'm alright."

"Fuck that," he retorted loudly. "I'm not leaving unless you're with me. I'll take you to the hospital and drop you off at the ER. You don't have to tell anyone you were with me."

"I'm not worried about that. This isn't your problem. This is my problem. I told you I expected nothing from you."

"You also told me we shouldn't have sex anymore. You say a lot of things. Do you have a bag packed or something?"

"Yes, of course," she pointed to a bag next to the dresser.

He grabbed the bag from the floor and his cane and said, "Come on, time to kick out the freeloader."

* * *

**# # # In House's Office-The Day of Nate's Release from the Hospital # # #**

The minutes where Blythe was holding Nate were some of the most uncomfortable House and Cuddy had ever shared. Given the number of uncomfortable moments they'd had, that was saying a lot. Reber stopped when he saw Cuddy and motioned her to the hallway. Cuddy looked back at Blythe who offered, "Oh don't worry, I'll keep him for a few minutes."

"Are you sure?" Cuddy asked, awkwardly.

"I raised Greg practically on my own when John was deployed, I can handle a baby for a little while."

"Greg is proof you know what you're doing?" John griped loudly. "She should grab her kid and run."

Cuddy looked to House and there was a motionless nod between them before Cuddy stepped in the hall.

Blythe swayed casually with the baby and turned to House. Her eyes lifted and stared straight into him while he tried to look occupied with something on his desk. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked directly.

"Tell you what?"

"You know exactly what."

House looked at her, his attempt at innocence would have fooled most people, but it just made his mother stare harder and he couldn't seem to keep her gaze.

"I always know when you lie, Greg," Blythe argued, "and you are lying right now."

"You don't honestly think that woman would be caught dead with him," John blurted. "Women like that date men who know how to shave and take a shower."

"Women have always liked my son. He's very handsome."

"She had the baby on her own," House clarified.

"I don't think that's exactly possible, dear," Blythe said softly, turning her attention back to child.

"It is. There are anonymous donations, fertility centers."

"All of which you're speaking of abstractly in order to avoid lying while you're trying to mislead me. This child looks like you did."

"All babies look the same. Ugly, wrinkled, cranky."

"If he's ugly, wrinkled and cranky, maybe he is yours," John interjected with a chuckle.

"Hold him while I get my purse," Blythe ordered.

"No, Mom, I'm not into babysitting. Wait until Cuddy gets back."

"John, hold the boy."

"I'd rather not," the old man replied, but Blythe was already holding out her arms to hand the baby off to John.

House got up, quickly grabbing his cane and intercepting the hand off. "Here, I'll hang onto him while you get whatever you need."

"I hope you don't have a bunch of bastard children out there," John said with disdain while Blythe dug through her purse.

"I do. Entire colonies of them," House answered, "if only they invented one or more methods of preventing pregnancy, but they didn't cover that in med school so-."

House had the baby in his arm, but angled back at his side instead of in front of him, in the most impersonal way possible. "Look," Blythe said, walking up to House and holding out a picture, "this is you."

"I know who it is," he said while he tried to hand the baby back.

Nate was beginning to fuss and Blythe warned, "Hang on to him for a minute. Like this." She moved House's arm out the front, right across his abdomen. The baby stopped crying and curled closer. "See, you're doing great."

"Wonderful," House sneered, "now can you take him back?"

"Look at this picture."

"I am. He looks like Cuddy. Which makes a lot of sense, since she is his mother."

"Your hair was that color when you were born. It's just hard to tell in this old black and white photo." Blythe lifted the child's hand and opened up his fist to stretch his fingers. "Look at these fingers. So long, just like yours were. And he has the same chin."

"Lots of babies have chins and long fingers."

Blythe was very specifically pointing out features, waiting each time for House to really look them. "He's so handsome, Greg. I used to stare at you for hours. It was just you and me for so long."

"Would you stop?" John yelled. "It's not his kid. And if it is, he doesn't want to take responsibility for it. Hopefully she'll meet a decent man who can raise the child right."

When John said those words, House's eyes went wide and he turned to the old man, questioning the air for answers to the thoughts in his head.

John scowled, "What? A good mother would find a strong role model for that boy. I'm sure she doesn't want to raise a ballet dancing fruitcake."

"I think she did say that was her number one fear as a mother," House retorted sarcastically while the thoughts filled his head.

"Ignore him," Blythe whispered to House as John left the room. "He's just old fashioned. Now, I know my grandson when I see him. You got your brains from somewhere, so whether you want to admit it or not, I know the truth."

"Mom," House said, staring back at her, "he had a hole in his heart. That's the only resemblance that I've seen, and the similarities there are just metaphorical."

Cuddy walked back in, hurrying over when she saw House was stuck uncomfortably holding the child, "I hope he wasn't a problem."

Blythe answered, "Not at all. Doesn't my son look great holding a baby?"

"He always looks great," Cuddy answered after a slight pause, smiling fleetingly and reaching out to take her baby, "but I don't think holding babies is really his favorite thing."

"He's just not used to it. I remember when he was that small," Blythe held up the picture and watched Cuddy's face.

Looking from the picture to House and back to the picture, Cuddy seemed emotionless, but her words were difficult to find. She finally said to House, "It's hard to imagine you as a baby."

Cuddy lifted her son and walked back over to the car seat to put Nate in securely. "We have to go home."

House walked over to Cuddy, "Mom, I have to go. I'm driving them."

"It's OK," Cuddy quickly added, "I can do it on my own."

His eyes were wide when he said, "It's fine. I can see my parents later."

He was certain that she was going to leave him there with his parents, but she swallowed, studying his face and answered, "If you're sure it's not a problem. I would really appreciate the help."

Cuddy was the only one who could see his face, and there was a quick flash of relief while he nodded, "It's fine. You owe me."

Just as they were saying goodbye to Blythe, she said, "Tomorrow. Let's all meet for lunch."

"Sure," House answered, while they were leaving. "Meet me here."

"All of us."

Cuddy shrugged, "I don't know if I can do that. He just had surgery and I really don't know if it's good for him to be out at restaurants with so many people and germs. I really appreciate it, though. How thoughtful."

"OK, we'll come to your house."

"My house?"

"Yes. You and Greg seem like good friends and since I don't have any grandchildren, it would mean a great deal to me if I could spend some more time with your little boy."

Cuddy looked to House for answers, but the normally unflinching House seemed off-balance when his mother was involved. "Sure," Cuddy finally answered.

"Greg can drive us there since he obviously knows where you live. Don't put yourself to any trouble," Blythe explained, "we'll bring lunch to you."

While the younger woman was looking at her baby, Blythe gave House a very knowing and victorious stare, allowing the more maternal look to reemerge before Cuddy saw. When they finally escaped, Cuddy walked out into the hall, trying to balance her things as House joined her. "What just happened?"

"My mother."

"SO much is making sense about you right now," Cuddy said, glancing at House out of the corner of her eye.

He took the diaper bag from her since it was falling down her arm and put it over his shoulder as he said, "She's good. She's too good."

"I didn't know what to say."

"It's fine. If you don't mind them for an hour or two. Let my mother look around, my dad will complain and then they'll be gone for another year or two."

"You had no idea they were coming?"

"None. They usually don't warn me because I'm decently good at missing their visits if I have too much time to plan. You won't hear me say this often, but I may owe you for this one."

"You can repay me by showing up. Don't leave me there with them tomorrow."

"I won't," House answered before he was interrupted.

"Nice purse," Foreman jabbed as he walked past.

"Oh, Foreman," House answered, turning back with a fake look of happiness. "I didn't notice you, so it's a good thing you said something. I'm due in the clinic in fifteen minutes, I need you to take it."

"Seriously?"

"And tomorrow. I have the twelve to two shift. So take that one, too."

"Cuddy?" Foreman asked, "You going to let him pawn those hours off."

She tightened her lips and nodded slowly, "He's your boss. It's up to him."

When Cuddy put her son in the car she said, "I was worried that your mom was suspicious at first. You know-"

"Oh, I know," House said as he started her car, "She is. Actually, she's not suspicious, she's convinced."

"She didn't say anything."

"She did to me. She thinks it's true. She wants to come to your house so she can snoop."

"What does your father think?"

"He thinks you can do better."

"As a father, isn't he supposed to think you could do better?"

"He doesn't. He also isn't my father."

"Your mom got remarried?"

"Nope. She was already married to him. Then, by some miracle, I was conceived while he was deployed."

"You're joking? Your mother cheated?"

"Certainly seems like it. When I mentioned the timeline to him, it kick-started the unpleasantness between us that has lasted over thirty years."

"What did your mom say?"

"I didn't tell her that I know."

"Do you know who he is?"

"I have a suspicion, but I don't know for sure. I just think it's amusing that she's trying to point out how she can tell that Nate is mine when she so blatantly ignores the issue of my biological father."

As Cuddy took the baby out of the car, House watched her interact with her son. Nate stared at her, his bright eyes focusing on the familiar shapes of her face. She smiled at him as he toothlessly smiled back and reached out for her with his long, slender fingers.

**To be continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

**# # # Three Months Ago # # #**

The night Cuddy went into labor, House initially dropped her off and went home. He pulled up to his apartment, looking at his door before he began to drive back to the hospital. He told himself he had test results to check and work to do, and he simply couldn't sleep. Shortly after Cameron came in to work, she told him she'd heard they were prepping Cuddy for surgery. Cameron had also heard that no one was able to make it in to be by Cuddy's side.

A half hour later, he was limping into the OR. He left his cane behind because of germs, and he actually thoroughly scrubbed in and even wore a mask. If something went wrong, he wasn't going to sit by and watch her or her son die. He didn't want to have to see her go through a loss like that. Of course he told himself that he was too curious to miss it. When he went through the door, he could see her, staring up at the OR lights with wide eyes.

There was a curtain across her abdomen so she couldn't see the surgery. He could read the fear on her face. As he approached, it was all there before him, her worries about the child's survival, perhaps even about her own, her concerns for the future and her utter loneliness. Someone in the OR shouted, "House, get the hell out of here," while one of the nurses came to remove him.

He hurried as quickly as he could, getting to her side, and he leaned down and whispered, "It's important."

She nodded, a bit drugged and out of sorts. He sat in the chair that would have been there for a co-parent, family member or birthing partner. She looked relieved. "I might need to do a brain biopsy," he said.

"Why?" she asked softly, willing to allow the pretense because it seemed that was the only way he could be where he so obviously wanted to be.

"You need to leave," a nurse said from behind him.

"It's OK," Cuddy told her. "He's not bothering me." Cuddy looked like she would have grabbed onto his arm if someone had tried to force him to leave. "What about your patient?"

"Well, it's a very weird case. His head is in his ass. Since I suspect that he has colon cancer, and his ass is filled with his head, I thought it might make the most sense to biopsy his brain."

She laughed, more with her eyes than anything else. He talked to her about the case in loose terms, sitting while they performed the C-section and her son was officially born. He sat there while they performed the child's initial assessments, continuing to talk to Cuddy about a patient that didn't even truly exist while listening for any signs of trouble with the procedure. While they talked, the doctors repaired her body after surgery, and she seemed cautiously relieved.

The pediatrician eventually brought the baby over to her, placing the tiny bundle in her arms. "I have a baby," she said to House with disbelieving joy.

"Yes. You do," he answered. "Congratulations, Cuddy."

He left the OR, feeling that since her son was born, he was no longer needed to fill the loneliness in her life. There was one last moment when he turned back to the OR, looking at her, holding her son while she stared at his face for the first time. It was so strange to be so close to being part of something like that. He limped away, stopping at his office to tell his team he was off for the rest of the day. His leg ached with pain far more intense than even he was used to. When he went home, he dug out his private stash of morphine, dropped down on his sofa and decided he'd handled enough pain for the day while he filled the syringe.

* * *

**# # # Cuddy's Home for Lunch with the House's # # #**

House met his parents late the next morning to go visit Cuddy and Nate. Had Cuddy not been involved, House definitely would have made an excuse or found some way to avoid the lunch. John complained while he put things into the trunk of their nice, midsized rental car. Blythe immediately commented when she saw Cuddy's home, "My that's a lovely place. A lot of space for just her and a child. Are you living here now?"

"No. I live in my apartment. The same apartment that I've had for years. I work for her, that's it. She's very focused on her career. If you want to go hold the little crap factory, go ahead. But stop looking for something that isn't there."

As they approached Cuddy's front door, House pulled out his phone to text work. He told Cameron to call with an 'emergency' in one hour. Cuddy opened the front door, looking as awkward as he felt while his parents brought in the things they had purchased. Blythe gave Cuddy a box of things for Nate and commented, "Since I wasn't invited to the shower."

House did his best to ignore everything, including the conversation and the baby. With each nonverbal denial of paternity that he offered his mother, his mood seemed to worsen. The fact that John House couldn't seem to go more than a moment or two without some sort of insult didn't help. House did watch Cuddy though. He watched the way Cuddy patiently answered Blythe's questions and stepped cautiously around the ones she didn't want to answer. Cuddy actually started to seem strangely at ease, getting things for her guests as necessary while she kept an eye on a surprisingly pleasant Nate. "Such a happy child," Blythe commented while she finished her lunch. "Greg was happy too, actually."

"Oh for chrissakes, would you please tell this old woman to give it a rest," John interrupted.

"She's sweet," Cuddy answered diplomatically.

"She's senile. She is holding this fantasy that your son is her grandson. Put her out of her misery. No reasonable woman would ever choose Greg as a father. What sort of child would he raise when he has no respect for other people or himself?"

Cuddy coughed slightly, and said as she stood, "Mr. House, if your son wanted children, he would be my first choice. But he doesn't want them. End of story. Excuse me for a moment."

"I feel sorry for the boy," John commented before he stuffed more food in his mouth.

"Shut up," House said, breaking a long period of silence when he felt he could no longer avoid answering.

"Excuse me? I still command your respect."

"You demand my respect-you don't command it. There's a difference," House answered before he stood and limped into the kitchen. He found Cuddy there, staring into an open refrigerator. "I shouldn't have brought them here," he said to the back of her.

"It's fine," she answered softly, pulling a few drinks out and setting them on the counter. "Your mother's very nice."

"I guess."

"She is."

"Leave it to my dad to force you into breaking your promise of silence."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean-I'm not your kid's father. You kind of let it slip."

Cuddy tapped the countertop with an opened hand and then said, "I meant I wouldn't choose you to raise a child with because you have no desire to be a dad. No matter what, I've screwed this up already. I've planned so many things so carefully and when it comes to my son, to my life as a mother, I've already ruined it."

"You didn't ruin anything. You were smart to pick someone else."

"And then I see your dad and the way he treats you and-."

House stepped in front her, touching the counter only an inch from her hand, but he didn't touch her. "You wouldn't choose a man like my dad. And face it, any man who really cared about you, would care about your son. You made him, he's part you."

She looked at him for so long, it felt time held still. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course."

"I was prepared to use a different donor for the IUI because I didn't want to lose you. I didn't want my desire to have a child to influence an already very strained working relationship. A lot has happened since then. We've grown so much closer. Everything has changed."

Even though all signs had been pointing to this, he still looked hurt to hear it, his body actually moving back a little like it had been hit. "Nothing's changed. We don't have to talk about this," he said, strengthening his jaw, "in fact I'd really prefer not to." His eyes were suddenly cold and emotionless.

"We have to."

"We really don't, I would have rather not known."

"Do you want him to be your son?"

House continued to look at his hand on the counter, so close to hers but still intentionally separate. "I don't know. But what I want is irrelevant."

"It's not irrelevant to me."

"That may be. But what's done is done."

"I can't carry this with me. I thought I could. I thought it didn't matter. But suddenly it feels like it does."

"Consider your conscience clear. But I need to go," he said, pulling his Vicodin from his pocket and swallowing a pill. "My leg hurts." House's phone rang and he answered, telling Cameron, "I'll be in soon," gruffly before he hung up.

"I lied to you," Cuddy said before he could get away. "After all we've been through lately, can't you give me a minute to explain?"

"Fine."

"When you came over that night-the night before my IUI-"

"Yea, I remember," he answered shortly.

"And everything happened between us and it felt so-"

He interrupted, still short, "Orgasmic, yes I remember. You told me how good I felt and how right I felt and things felt great. But then you got up in the morning to go for an IUI so you could have another man's baby. My memory is perfectly clear. It kind of ruined the mood."

"See, why couldn't you tell me? Why couldn't you ask me not to go? Why couldn't you tell me that it mattered to you?"

"Because it doesn't."

"I did get up that morning. And I did go in for the procedure. I was on the table, in a gown, ready to go, and I couldn't go through with it."

House's irritation moved to confusion as he looked at her while his mind tried to wrap itself around what was happening. He was unprepared for the one-eighty degree shift that had just taken place. He scratched his scruff with the back of his thumb in silence and then asked, "What do you mean?"

"I told the doctor I couldn't do the IUI. I needed to postpone it. I wanted to figure out stuff with you. Given my trigger shot with the clomid and the positive ovulation test, it seemed clear that it was a possibility that you and I had gotten pregnant naturally. You knew that though."

"We did that on our own?"

She nodded, emotions welling even though she was trying so hard to push them down. "We did that. And now I feel like I have no choice but to tell you, because I'm going to lose you if he's yours, and I'm going to lose you if he's not yours. I'm stuck here. I already messed it up and I can't go back."

"Why didn't you have the IUI?"

"I didn't want to complicate things more. And when I thought about having your baby, it felt right. Once the possibility was there—it was what I wanted. I should have told you."

"Why lie about having it done?"

"I didn't want you to feel trapped or responsible. You made me promise not to tell you. I thought it wouldn't matter. You knew I could get pregnant. You seemed to be doing your damndest to make it happen. But you said you didn't want to know, and then I was sure you were going to run away. And now it hurts you if it's someone else's, too."

She thought he was angry, or maybe beyond angry. He moved closer to her, she could smell him, she could almost feel him. She was waiting for some burst of frustration and he stated, flatly, "You wanted him to be mine."

"Obviously."

"Why?"

"That night was so intense. I wasn't sure where things were going between us. And then after that night, you barely spoke to me for weeks. I thought I could handle my pregnancy all alone, but you kept showing up. And I could have handled it, but sometimes, having you there really meant something. I felt something for you and I knew it was there when we started having sex. I should have broken it off completely, because continuing to have sex certainly didn't lessen my feelings. Every time I told myself we weren't going to do it anymore, and every time I watched all of that resolve wither away. I don't want to cut you out of my life, but if you're in it, we end up sleeping together. And I like sleeping together, but then that makes it difficult to ignore the way I feel."

"How do you feel?"

She tugged at the bottom of his button down shirt, "I think I'm in love with you. But now I have a son, and I love him so much, but you don't want that. You don't want a family. So I hurt you if you aren't Nate's father and I overwhelm you if you are, and I know I should stop having sex with you but I can't seem to follow through with that, and I know that I shouldn't be in love with you because we want entirely different things-but that's still how I feel. I can't stop feeling that way. And I'm so fucking frustrated because I don't think I can fix this. I don't even understand how this all got so out of hand."

He was listening, intently focused on what she was saying. His look was so lost and pained, but hopeful. So much the way that she felt too, so she was drawn in, leaning closer and lifting to him. Her delicately soft but full lips pressed against his, her one hand moving to his waist. He didn't respond initially, he let her come to him, but she grazed her tongue at the space between his lips and he couldn't prevent a reaction. His one arm remained braced on the counter, but the other wrapped around her and pulled her so tightly against him that there was little space left between them. She reached up, grabbing his face between her hands and then she heard a polite cough.

They separated quickly, finding Blythe by the kitchen door saying, "I'm sorry, dear, but your son seems to be hungry."

"Thank you," Cuddy answered, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a bottle that was carefully labeled.

While Cuddy was busy preparing the bottle under warm water and grabbing a cloth, Blythe gazed confidently at House, but her suspicion was only amplified by the fact that he wasn't looking back at her, he was staring at the counter in virtually the same spot he'd been in since his mother interrupted them.

"I'll be happy to feed him," Blythe offered, removing the bottle and cloth from Cuddy's hand, "take your time."

After Blythe was gone, Cuddy added, "I guess that didn't help anything."

House's phone rang and he gave more instructions to Cameron, but the situation wasn't good. "I have to go."

"I'm sorry for all of this."

He grabbed her forearm while she walked past. "I knew what I was doing. You didn't force anything on me, if anything I pushed you."

* * *

There was nothing that could be done for the patient. He had a severe heart attack and was gone in minutes. Everything felt very anticlimactic, all of the work towards diagnosing the patient was for nothing. When House was done at the hospital, he got on his motorcycle to go home and found himself leaning the bike at the turn that would take him to Cuddy's.

His parents insisted on staying with Cuddy after he left lunch, something that she agreed to unhappily. His mother called him to tell him that they were leaving the next morning. He lifted his cane to wrap on the door, but hesitated. Her home was so quiet that he felt like he didn't want to ruin it. He wanted to be part of the peaceful silence instead of disturbing it.

With her hidden key, he went inside and walked back to her room. She was asleep, but she didn't really seem to be sleeping serenely. He turned off the baby monitor in her room when he heard the child making gurgling noises.

House went into the nursery, sitting on a rocker nearby and watching the boy. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to feel. The night Nate was conceived was about trying to hold on to Cuddy, it wasn't about becoming a father. It was about finding and giving comfort, surrendering to attraction. It was about the fact that the thought of her carrying another man's baby pained him. He couldn't have said it to her then. He couldn't really say it to her now.

Nate was moving, looking up at a mobile that wasn't spinning, but the butterflies that dangled from it were so light that they shifted with the drafts that flowed in the home. The baby started to make cooing noises, like he was talking to something. House could hear the gurgles becoming less content, so he walked over to the crib. Nate looked at him, his little forehead wrinkled while he stared at his onlooker. There was no instant recognition from the child, no unspoken biological bond that made the child smile and reach for the man who'd fathered him. But there was curiosity. "I'm not sure about you either," House said to the kid as he watched the fists and feet kicking.

Nate's face crinkled and started to grow ruddy with frustration, so House picked him up. He held the baby out in front of his face, "Are you hungry, lonely or shitty?"

When Nate whined, House brought the baby into his arm, grabbed his cane, and started walking to the kitchen. There was a bottle of expressed milk in the fridge that he took out and warmed under water. Nate's soft grumbling started to become an angry, loud rant in a second. Deciding the bottle was warm enough, House tipped the boy back in his arm and put the bottle in his mouth. Nate turned away from it a few times, making a displeased humphing sound. "You don't like the bottle?" he asked, and Nate reluctantly took it because he was hungrier than he was particular. "Trust me, kid, if I could get all of my beverages out what you're thinking about, I'd skip the bottles, too."

House considered finding a place to sit down, but he couldn't hold the bottle, the baby and the cane all at the same time, and he certainly didn't want to lose his balance while holding the kid, so he leaned against the counter. "Was your mother alright tonight?" House asked, watching the boy's eyes growing heavy with sleep again when he wasn't hungry enough to keep him awake. "My mom really likes you, by the way. My dad's a jackass, so ignore him. I don't think you'll have to see them again. You're lucky, you know. Your mom is really cool, she'll take good care of you."

After putting the bottle in the sink, House held the boy to his chest and returned to Nate's room. He sat on the rocker and started patting the sleeping boy's back. "Your mom says if you don't burp, you get really pissed off."

"You have to do it harder than that," Cuddy said sleepily, standing in the doorway behind him.

House turned, uncomfortable with being caught. "You can do it."

"No, you started it, you finish it. Just smack him harder. He kind of likes his back thumped pretty hard." House increased the tempo of his hand and Cuddy shook her head, "Harder. I didn't think I'd ever have to worry about you being too delicate."

"Sounds weird. Usually when you say 'harder' it sounds so-hot."

Cuddy stepped over, pushing House's back away from the chair and placing solid smacks on him. "Pat him like that."

He started smacking the boy harder, looking up at Cuddy and waiting for her to stop him. When Nate belched she nodded approvingly, "Good job. Did you change him?"

"I thought nothing was expected of me," he said, lightly.

"You picked him up," she answered, taking the baby and placing him on the table. "No one asked you to feed him either."

"My progeny has discriminating taste. He doesn't like the bottle and he was really clear about that."

"He's gonna have to get used to it. Mommy has to go back to work."

"Tough love already?"

Cuddy picked up the freshly changed child, walked over to House and roughly pinched his nipple. "Seems like yours are still useless. So bottles it is."

House allowed a slight smile and watched while Cuddy lowered the boy into his crib. He left the room first, walking into Cuddy's room and turning back for her. She was a few feet behind him, her arms crossed as she shook her head. "I can't, House." He stepped closer, but she held a hand up to stop him. "I'm going to get hurt here. I told you, I can't keep sleeping with you."

"What hurts isn't when we're having sex, it's what happens afterwards. When we stop talking and stop having sex, then it hurts."

"You're right. But you seem to be able to sleep with me without any emotional entanglements. And I thought I could, but I can't. I need to be smart, I can't keep getting swept up."

"My patient died," he said after a few seconds of quiet.

"I'm sorry," she answered, her defensive posture dropping, "What happened?"

"Massive heart attack," he smiled, noticing how she immediately appeared more sympathetic.

"I still can't sleep with you," she clarified.

"I didn't want you to have another guy's baby," he said suddenly, staring into her. "When I thought about it, I couldn't take it. When you went in for the IUI-"

She waited for him to finish, but he didn't. "Impregnating someone is one thing. Having feelings for them is something else. I understand that," she answered.

"I wanted to do it because I do have feelings. That's why I can't stay away. That's why I can't stop coming to you. And once I come to you, I can't stop touching you. I can't stop and I also don't want to stop."

"So what do you want me to do? You don't want children, you don't even want a girlfriend."

"Who said that? Who told you those things? Because the thing is, no one ever asked me what I want."

"You want to be a parent?"

"I don't know."

"That's something you either want or don't want. There can't be an in-between."

"I don't know because I've always assumed I wouldn't have it. I've never even really thought it was possible."

"So what do you know you want?"

"I want you," he answered decisively.

"But I have Nate now. So what about him? We're pretty inseparable for at least the next eighteen years."

"I don't know him yet and there isn't a magic dad on-switch for me. You've had a year to get attached to him, I've had a few hours to think about it. I don't know how I feel about the parenthood thing. But I'm willing to try. I need to try."

"This is not an experiment."

"Life is an experiment. I want you, I know that part. I also know that—I don't want the kid to go through what I went through with my dad. I know that's probably not the declaration of undying paternal love you wanted to hear. But what happens to him matters to me. I think that says something. Apart from that, I guess time will tell."

She was searching the wall for an answer before she said, "If you stay tonight, are you going to wake up in the morning and barely speak to me for months?"

"No. I want a chance to be with you. I want to try."

"You can stay. I want you to stay. I'm tired though, so I need to sleep."

He stripped down to his boxers and joined her in bed. She was so acquiescent, folding against him in such an honest and full way that it made his chest hurt. She was spooned, her back against his front. The calm rhythm of her breath moved her body against his. He could feel his dick resting in the crack of her ass even through her clothes, and even though he attempted to ignore the feeling, it was automatically arousing. He certainly wasn't used to sleeping next to someone anymore and the simple truth was, he wanted to be with her. There was so much emotion between them, and he tried to ignore the need to express that in the only way that felt easy for him.

Noticing that he was semi-hard behind her, she looked over her shoulder. "I can't control that," he defended immediately, "if you're going to rub your ass on me, things like that are going to happen."

"You seem very good at 'controlling it' when we're actually having sex."

He grinned quickly at the compliment, bringing his lips to her ear and whispering, "Let me make love to you."

She shivered almost unnoticeably at the words she knew he had carefully chosen, words that he'd never spoken before. Tightening his arm around her to pull her back to him, he ground slowly against her butt, letting the alluring feeling of pressing against the warm cushion he so often fantasized about make him even harder. He added quietly, "If you're tired, you don't even have to do anything. I'll take care of everything."

From her breath and the shifting of her body, he could tell she was already tempted and turned on. "I don't think I'm really good at just lying there passively."

He rolled her to face him and pushed her silky shorts and underwear down her body. "If this is mine, I want to claim it."

"Yours?" she asked with a teasing tone.

"Yes. I'm very possessive and I really hate to share. I don't want to share these," he touched her hips, "or let anyone else lie here," he lifted her leg over his hip so he was between her thighs. "I definitely don't want anyone else kissing that mouth. I really don't want anyone else inside you."

"I'm possessive, too," she answered, returning a smirk. "I don't want another woman in your arms. I don't want anyone else sucking on your cock and I really don't want you inside anyone but me." Her narrow fingers reached down to start stroking him, finding him rock hard and already leaking lubricating fluid. His body was beyond ready for her.

"I don't want to be inside anyone else," he replied sliding the back of his index finger against her slit to make sure her body was ready, too.

He started to take off her nightshirt, but she pushed away his hand, "Not tonight," she stated, "leave the shirt on."

"I haven't felt you completely naked since before he was born. You barely let me touch you during our quickie in the car a few weeks ago. I want to feel all of you." He kicked his boxers the rest of the way off so that he was fully naked.

"I don't want anything-leaking on you," she winced.

"I'll shower in the morning," he answered, pulling the shirt and bra off her. "Stop worrying."

His hands ran luxuriously down her torso, his hips between her thighs, his raging erection between them. Her hands were all over him, their touches were constant and demanding, but not always blatantly sexual. They were marking each other as taken, feeling what had become theirs. Cuddy's one arm went across her breasts, but she tried to do that as subtly as possible. He noticed, removing her arm and placing it next to her head. "You're completely sexy," he said roughly.

His lips dipped to her breast for a moment, gently licking off the tiny droplets that had formed on her nipples, tasting the sweetness of her body on the tip of his tongue before balancing over her. She was pulling him into her as he happily complied, feeling the moment when their bodies were together.

He lifted up higher, making sure his blunt tip hit her g-spot with each penetration and his body pressed against her pubic bone at the furthest depth of each thrust. Her hips were off the bed more than on it, she was clinging to him with her arms while her hips met him with almost punishing force. She was sliding her body along his prick, allowing the ridge to rub and massage inside of her body. She really couldn't be passive in sex, and that was part of what made her irresistible. She fucked with wanton, shameless, whole-hearted passion that made him harder than he thought he could be, like when he was a teenager and the mere thought of a girl against him could make him rock hard.

She started pulsing inside, and she demanded raspily, "You are mine, House," and her head rolled back while she started to cum. Her insides started milking a climax from him, drawing him to the point where he'd have to release. She liked being the reason he had no choice but to embrace pleasure.

With his last really coherent response, he answered, "Fuck I know."

Her body was already sated, but she knew how she could intensify and hold his orgasm. Even after he could no longer move, when he lifted with statuesque power and held still in a moment of pure painless suspension, she kept sliding him in and out of her body as she rocked against him, forcing every last drop of intensely blissful sensation from him. There came a point when he could no longer take her continued movement, so he lay on her, holding her body against him so she couldn't move while he regained his control and the high sensitivity began to fade.

He rolled to the side, drawing her along so her leg was still slung over his hip and her breasts were flattened against his chest. "I'll be here in the morning, I'm not walking away," he said as he was drifting almost immediately to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

House woke at nearly ten in the morning, remembering where he was and why he was there. He pushed his face into the pillow, trying to ignore the screaming pain in his leg. The bed smelled like Cuddy, the sheets were high-quality and washed with something that probably made them softer. He heard a yell from a baby, and he suddenly remembered more of what had transpired the night before.

The mystery was gone, the child was his, and in some ways, that was a victory because Cuddy had chosen House in a very tangible way. But in other ways, having a child was a bit unsettling. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he never really felt bonded to the child, and part of him wondered what he would do if he really did begin to feel a connection. Even stranger than discovering that he had a child, was that he had Cuddy. Two almost miraculous events, but House didn't believe in miracles.

He stretched, trying to work the aches out of his body before he stood. He'd never expected to sleep so late, particularly not in someone else's bed. After putting his boxers and jeans back on, he decided it was time to go assess the situation. Following voices, House found Cuddy, lying on the floor on her stomach next to the brightly colored patch blanket where Nate was. Cuddy was reading something, and House heard her say, "-would like to present a motion to install additional security cameras along the far side of the parking lot," she stopped reading and pulled her glasses off, saying to Nate, "Miller is such a transparent, self-centered egotist. I tried to get them to install parking lot cameras and he completely lambasted the idea. Then, someone keys his car and suddenly he's interested. Obviously that's in the best interest of the hospital."

"What in the hell are you reading to him?" House asked, watching Cuddy and Nate both turn suddenly to the source of the loud noise. "I expect to hear some irritating story about bears who love their mommies or lambs who can count, and instead I get-?"

"Minutes from the only board meeting I missed."

"You're reading him minutes?"

"He doesn't care," Cuddy defended, sitting up, "he just likes to hear someone talk. Surprisingly he listens better than most of my employees."

"I'm not sure if I'm more shocked by your choice of reading material or the fact that you missed a board meeting. I didn't think anything was as important to you as meetings. So where in the hell were you?"

She smiled, covering the baby's ears and explaining, "I was stuck in traffic so I had sex with you in your car before returning to my sick child's hospital room. Any other questions?"

House shook his head, watching while Cuddy let go of Nate's little ears. "Sex is better than a board meeting."

Cuddy leaned down, tapping Nate's nose with her forefinger, "Actually, I would agree."

Nate pushed up on his elbows to look around, "Is he supposed to be doing that already?" House asked.

"Developmentally, he's doing great. I was worried that he'd be behind because of the surgery and sickness, but he's right on target."

After a few seconds, Nate's head dropped onto the blanket like it was far too heavy to lift. The boy grumbled and grunted with frustration. Cuddy watched House as he was studying the infant's efforts. "What do you usually eat for breakfast?" she asked him.

House dug into his jeans and held out an orange bottle of Vicodin, jiggling it for effect, "All the vitamins and minerals a no longer growing boy needs."

"How about coffee?"

"Coffee's good."

Cuddy got up, going to the kitchen for coffee while House kept watching the boy. She handed House the cup and then asked, nervously, "Do you see something I should be worried about?"

"Like what?"

"Symptoms or- something?"

He shook his head, "Nothing, but I don't usually get them this small. Why? Do you see something?"

"No. I'm just asking. I always worry that I'm missing something that I should be seeing."

She walked back to the baby and sat down on the ground, rolling him onto his back when he grew tired of being on his belly. When she looked back, House was watching her with the same intensity with which he had previously been watching Nate.

"What?" she asked irritably.

"Are you wearing makeup?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're playing on the floor in sweatpants and tee-shirt so old that it's practically see through, but it looks like you're wearing makeup."

"They're yoga pants."

"Same thing."

"No it isn't."

"Fine, yoga pants. But it still looks like you're wearing makeup."

"That's not a polite question."

"I'm not a polite man."

She shook her head, admonishing him while wearing a smirk.

"You look good," he said, turning his head to better see her ass while she walked past, "don't get me wrong. I just don't see any reason why you'd need makeup at this hour for your current activity."

"What do you want me to say?"

He stared, he wasn't going to make anything easier.

"Fine," she admitted, "You're here—I'm wearing it. Are you satisfied?"

His head nodded his approval, "I was just curious. That's why I put my makeup on, too."

"To look good for yourself?" she teased.

House breathed slowly, "I do have to go soon."

"OK."

"I don't want to."

"You don't have to explain. You're still your own person. Have a great day."

"I told my mom I'd go to the airport to say goodbye since I had to leave early yesterday. I guess I should change my clothes, too."

"Oh," she answered, hesitantly less hurt, "if you feel like it, you can call later. Or stop by tonight."

"Yea," he answered, "I might. It's nothing personal. Surprisingly enough, I'd also rather sit and listen to you read board minutes than go there."

House sipped his hot coffee while Cuddy went back to reading minutes. Mid-sentence, she stopped reading and offered, "We could go, if you want."

"Go where?"

"To the airport. Then your mother would be more distracted by Nate than you, and I could give her a thank you card for all of the things she got for him."

He mulled over the idea but didn't answer.

"You don't have to tell them," she explained. "We don't have to tell anyone that he's your son. It can be between us. With your parents or at work."

"So you don't want anyone to know!" he accused forcefully.

"This isn't about me. You are the one who doesn't know if he wants to be a parent," she said, taking the baby and walking toward the nursery. "He needs changed, I'll be back."

House followed her to the nursery, watching while she changed the baby like she'd been doing that very thing for decades.

"Mom would like to see him before she leaves," he said, "if you don't have anything better to do."

"I thought you would like it. You've been there for me, I thought I could be there for you," she put the boy in his crib while she scooted by House to wash her hands. "Whether people know or not, I thought we were sort of trying a relationship."

While she washed, he came up behind her, putting his hands around her waist. "So you're trying to be a nice girlfriend?"

"I guess you could say that. I shouldn't have offered."

"Come with me."

She shook the water off her hands before she grabbed a towel. "Forget it."

He pulled her back to him, "I'm not used to how all of this works. Come with me."

She reached over her shoulder, putting her hand behind his neck, "You can say I wanted to say goodbye since they were so nice. Well—your mom was. You can wait to decide if you want to tell them the truth or not. It isn't like you're close. There's no reason why you can't wait and tell them later. Or never."

After a quick stop at House's apartment, they met at the airport where his parents were returning their rental car. Blythe saw House first, "I didn't think you were going to come."

"I'm here," House answered, uncomfortably accepting a quick hug.

He could tell when his mother noticed Cuddy emerging from the car, carrying Nate, because the older woman pulled away from him and smiled, "It's so nice to see you both again."

"We wanted a chance to thank you for all of the gifts," Cuddy said as she came up.

John busied himself with luggage and gathering paperwork, ignoring both his son and the visitors. They walked through the airport, waiting while the Houses checked their luggage and Blythe shared polite conversation.

Blythe was saying her final goodbyes before the security checkpoint, "Lisa, I hope we'll get to see you and your son again some time. Feel free to visit if you're ever down our way. Just have Greg give you our number."

"I will," Cuddy answered.

House had been quiet for a long time, as unaware of the conversation as his dad was.

"You have good friends, Greg," Blythe said.

He continued to stare and then said, stubbornly, "Cuddy's not my friend."

"Fine, dear. You have good colleagues."

He inhaled deeply through his nose, squinting his eyes and saying, "No, I mean—we're dating. Her son is mine."

Blythe smiled at her son, a look of victory as much as happiness, "Thank you for telling me."

House nodded, looking uncomfortably exposed and uneasy. He glanced at Cuddy, who was doing her best to avoid looking like she was rapidly going into shock. Cuddy's shock turned to a scowl when she saw John House shove a ticket into Blythe's hand before he walked through security without another word. "He doesn't like surprises," she said, taking Nate from Cuddy's arms.

Blythe held the child close, hugging him tightly. Cuddy and House looked on, watching Nate's face crinkle unhappily since the hug was overwhelming. "I better go," Blythe said before she placed a quick kiss on Nate's forehead and handed him back. "My son has fantastic taste in women, and I hope we'll be seeing more of each other. Be good to him," she told Cuddy, offering a quick, partial hug before turning to her son. "Gregory, I've always known you'd make beautiful babies. Obviously I was right. You're going to be a great father. Everything you do, you do well."

He still looked so uncomfortable that Cuddy kept wondering why he'd chosen to confess their secret. He half smiled at his mother before she walked through security.

Cuddy probably would have said something, had she known what to say. They walked out in silence, making their way back to the car. She kept looking at him worriedly, uncertain if it had all been too much.

Once they were driving, Cuddy said, "You know, when your mother was hugging him, he made that face."

House turned, watching her drive, considering something and then saying, "What face?"

"He looked just like you," she chuckled, "like the hug was—painful."

He turned back, looking at the car seat before facing front. "My dad-"

"He's a jerk."

"True. Mom was right, he doesn't like surprises, but what really made him upset wasn't the surprise. It was the fact that he was wrong."

"Is being right more important than meeting his grandson?"

"Yes."

"Why did you tell them?"

"You didn't want me to?"

"I'm happy that you did. But you surprised me. I wasn't sure why you decided to do that."

House fell into silence, the conversation lost to a world of his own thoughts.

The rest of the day was quiet, a day that was more comfortable than House would have imagined it would be. Nate liked to listen to music, so House went through Cuddy's music collection to see what the boy enjoyed. He was surprised that she didn't push for any more answers about his parents. He thought she probably wanted to, but was worried about his reaction.

Later, Nate went down for a nap and then Cuddy returned to the living room. House was reading several of the books people had purchased for his son, regarding each with his fullest judgment. He seemed so somber and unhappy that Cuddy couldn't help but wonder if he was regretting his decision to disclose the truth. She took the book from his hand and put it on the coffee table, "Is it us or them?"

"What do you mean?" he asked roughly.

"You're unhappy. I can't help but wonder if it's me and Nate and this whole family situation, or if it's what happened earlier with your parents."

He felt himself scowling at her without even trying it. He only noticed because of the look on her face, and then he asked, "Why would you think it would be you?"

She shrugged, "Everything sort of descended upon you."

"No it didn't. Seeing my parents isn't something I enjoy."

"Is your dad always so rough on you?"

The sorrow in her eyes made him want to push her away, but she slid onto his lap, draping her legs over the arm of the chair, and he found his hands holding her in place instead of putting distance between them. Hanging onto her, but not speaking, he wasn't sure what he would do if she pried for more answers.

House finally muttered, "You think the kid is like me?"

"I hope so, in some ways."

"But not in others," he accused.

"Well, I hope he's not in chronic pain as an adult. I hope he's not a copy of me either. I hope he picks up some of the best of both of us, and has some things that are uniquely him. Why?"

"Forget it."

Cuddy tried to remember back to what they'd discussed, acknowledging fully the way that House's mood had tumbled. Then she remembered what she said, "Because Nate didn't like it when your mom gave him that huge hug?"

He didn't answer.

"Look," Cuddy said, "it was just a lot of sudden attention. Nate loves being held and cuddled, but I think she startled him, that's all. It was just the same face you make when you're unhappy and overwhelmed. The similarity was in the expression. He loves it when I hold him. Haven't you noticed that? When you're ready, you should hold him. Not to feed him or to carry him, just to hold him. I think he likes the sound of your voice, or at least he's curious about it. Try it, you'll see. Hate to break it to you, but your son is a cuddler."

"Maybe he just likes being held by you. Even I'm OK with being held by you."

"That's a different kind of holding. I don't think you would like the same kinds of touches."

His eyes searched her face, "You can touch me however you want."

She chuckled before she realized he was serious. She had no idea how to respond, and as each second ticked by, she realized that he was protecting himself from rejection even more. His simple admission, something that would have been almost meaningless if said by anyone else, was huge. "If I get too close, you'll push away," she whispered, placing her hand flat on the center of his chest.

"You said I'd push you away if I knew about your kid, too," he answered with rough honesty.

"Our kid," she clarified, "our son."

"I'm going to fuck this up," he said abruptly. "We both know it."

"So will I, sometimes. You said you wanted to try, no one promised they wouldn't fuck up."

Her hands moved to the side of his face as she pulled the backs of her fingers down over his stubbled cheek. His eyes closed when she picked up his hand. Her fingers traced his, touching the tips and sliding down the sides of each digit. His hand eventually began moving with hers, allowing their bodies to interlock in a very non-sexual but deeply intimate way. He seemed to allow it comfortably for a minute or two, actually enjoying the way her body felt, and then he came back to reality and opened his eyes. Part of her expected him to suddenly toss her of his lap.

Instead of pushing her away, his one hand tightened around her hip, and he lifted the other to her face. He followed the full curve of her lower lip with his knuckle, feeling the contrast of rough to delicate, and firm to supple. She closed her eyes then, in a moment of relaxed surrender while the pad of his thumb touched her chin and cheek. He continued with a slow exploration, in a way that for once did not seem to foreshadow or accompany sex at all. He followed her collarbone to her shoulder, moving down her arm, brushing her skin with the tips of his fingers.

He drew her hand back up to his chest, his fingers continuing to rub her arm with exceedingly delicate brushing motions. She finally spoke with a voice so unused it sounded sleepy and her tone, confused, "That feels nice."

She could point to how uncomfortable human touch made him, how much he'd shrug away from hugs or any contact, but she often forgot how little of it she had in her own life. Her mother didn't offer compassionate embraces or sympathetic pats on the back. When Nate was in the hospital, the only comforting touch she'd had was House's during a stolen moment in the car. All of her energy had gone into comforting her son, and once again, House was the only person offering her support, while the man who so many saw as unfeeling seemed to be the only one capable of empathy when she needed it. So often it was in the form of sex, because the truth was that they were both the most comfortable dealing with each other in that way. They could hide the significance of sex behind lust, desire and need. She wanted to be the lone spot of empathy in a world that seemed cold to him as well.

Everything became almost too intense, like a partially eclipsed sun too bright to stare into unshielded, so they ducked toward each other. Their faces met, not in a kiss, but their cheeks moved past each other, lips brushing against skin. She reached under his shirt first, feeling the flat firmness of his torso as he reached for her stomach. The touches progressed like necessary steps that had to be taken. They were both aroused, not only sexually but in so many other ways that seemed to make waters that were already hazy seem downright murky.

Clothing was removed or adjusted as the touches continued to progress, and she turned in his lap, her legs looped over his. How they came to this position was all a blur, but then everything seemed like that with them, this entire progression from desperate acts of possession to offers of comfort in secret, but they seemed to continuously end up somewhere together.

With her back to him, she slid her body against his until he was inside her. They were moving slowly, their sexes each thumping with the powerful surges of arousal that wanted to be noticed and their needs met. They hadn't even touched each other in those ways, engaging in a type of extended foreplay that was nothing like what either of them were used to. He knew she was wet without venturing a finger toward her slit, and she knew he was hard as steel without sneaking her fingers into his boxers and there was absolutely no need to do anything at all to ensure readiness for either of them.

His hands reached to her shoulders, pushing her down onto him before feeling the shapes of the tops of her arms. He felt along the long, tense stretch of her lats down the shape of her back. She was careful to avoid his mangled leg, already well aware of his body and how and where she could touch him without causing pain. His arms wrapped around her body and held her back against him, her back completely against his front when he was deep inside her. She reached over her shoulder and they finally kissed in the unpracticed, haphazard way that people do when they're too turned on and wrapped up to neatly plan their next move.

His arms were more powerful than they looked, and he lifted her just a bit away from him, staying mostly deep in her hot pussy and just separating enough to cause the tension they craved. She tipped her body, moving her pelvis so her ass pushed against him. His hands crossed over her, his arms completely surrounding her, finally surrendering and reaching for her hips. Her hair tickled his face while the smooth skin of her back caressed his chest.

House barely moved, but he felt like he was fucking with his entire being in a way that he'd never felt before. Her orgasm preceded his by a few seconds, but she refused to stop until he'd achieved the same release. She dropped back against his chest, her one arm wrapping back around his neck while his arms kept her clenched to his front.

They weren't still for long before his fingers started stroking the narrow length of her arm again, finishing the encounter with the same sort of touches that they'd started with.

Cuddy whispered in his ear that she was tired before they went to her room, threw some previously discarded clothes back on and got into the bed. Before she fell asleep, she whispered, "There's nothing wrong with Nate and there's nothing wrong with you. You're just used to the things you feel causing you pain. No wonder you're hesitant."

She'd only slept a few splintered hours the night before until Nate woke up. When the baby started to stir, House picked him up from his crib. Nate wasn't quite fully awake yet, so he laid down his head with his ear pressed against House's chest.

House was beginning to feel almost capable already, grabbing a bottle and the baby and walking back to Cuddy's room. He put the boy in the center of the bed and watched while Nate examined his sleeping mother. Nate cooed and garbled at her, happy to see her even though she was sleeping and wasn't offering any attention in return. "She is pretty great," House agreed with Nate.

The baby looked at the man who was new in his life, offering one disciplinary yell until the bottle was offered. The heel of House's hand was resting on the boy's chest to steady the bottle. House was busy looking at Cuddy until he felt something on his hand and looked down to see Nate's small fist opening and closing, the tips of his tiny fingers and sharp fingernails brushing against House's much larger hand.

He wasn't quite sure what to do or say with the child yet, finally deciding to hold his free hand out for the boy to study. Nate grabbed one of House's fingers and held on.


	8. Chapter 8

Over the next few weeks, House spent more time with Cuddy and Nate. He certainly liked the kid, but still didn't find the parental connection he'd wondered about. It was interesting to watch Nate grow and change, and there were times when he could see glimmers of himself or Cuddy in the child's expressions. Nate certainly seemed to like House, often lighting up with smiles when he would see his father. House helped with the boy, and found that, most nights, he was invited to stay with Cuddy. They had a strange relationship with many things unsaid and many of their interactions just seemed to happen around the course of a normal day. Between work and an infant, they didn't have much time for dates or formalities. But House liked being with Cuddy and how it all seemed to fall into place so naturally.

When he was working in the clinic, House saw a flyer for free portable cribs. Stopping at the storage area, he picked up one for Nate, feeling that it would be good to have a safe place for the baby to sleep at his apartment as well. It was heavy, and when House tried to take it to his car, the strap that held it broke and the weight of the crib hit the muscle in his damaged leg, causing excruciating pain. He tried to go back to work, but the continuous muscle cramps that followed made concentrating difficult. At lunch, he decided he had to call for a massage.

He met Molly, the same woman he had called to give Cuddy a massage during her pregnancy, at his apartment. Molly worked wonders on his leg, avoiding the bruised sections but easing the tense muscles. They were in his bedroom for the massage, and while they were finishing up, Molly said, "So you bought a crib?"

"I procured one," House answered, his voice more relaxed since the pain was waning.

"For that woman who you definitely weren't seeing?"

"For her son. I don't think she would be comfortable in there."

Molly grinned and said sarcastically, "Obviously you aren't the father. You just love babysitting."

House shrugged, "Surprisingly enough, he is mine."

"Do you have a picture?"

He stared, "Why would I? I see him every day."

"You don't have one to show off?"

"Nope."

"Too bad. Are you alright if I finish up?"

"Sure. Feels better."

She walked over toward the dresser, picking up her drink. House stood up after pulling on his jeans, and when she tipped the glass back too far, water dripped down her face and onto her shirt. "Dammit," she complained while she reached for a tissue.

He was amused by her predicament, chuckling while he zipped his pants. The next seconds happened quickly and with great confusion, but the next thing he knew, Cuddy was standing in the doorway to his bedroom. She looked over at Molly, who was wiping her mouth with a tissue while House was zipping up. "Hey," he greeted Cuddy casually.

"Hey?" Cuddy asked shaking her head. "That's all you have to say?"

"Hey Cuddy?" he tried.

She looked at Molly, gritting her teeth before she looked back at House, "I heard your leg was bothering you, I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Feeling better."

"I'm sure you are," she said angrily, turning and walking out of the apartment.

He scratched the back of his head for a second, but when he saw Molly throwing the tissue that she had used to clean her face into the trash, he realized how the situation must have looked to Cuddy. "Fuck," he shouted, hopping toward his cane and following her as quickly as he was able.

Cuddy was already in her car by the time he got out there. He stood in front of it so she couldn't leave and shouted, "My leg hurt."

"I'm sure the blow job helped," she answered, her voice muffled through the windows.

"You're wrong."

She closed her eyes and then stared coldly into him, "Let me leave."

He walked to her window, signaling for her to roll it down. When she didn't, he said the one thing that came into his head, "You can't just cut me out. I want to see our son."

Tapping the steering wheel for a second, she looked up at him, the window still up, and said, "I wouldn't try to keep you from him. I'll bring him to my office tomorrow afternoon. You can see him then."

House sneered, "You're being completely irrational."

"Of course I am," she answered dryly, "I should be perfectly fine with you seeking a little relief whenever you want? When we agreed to see each other I thought we agreed we were exclusive, but I guess I wasn't specific enough to include happy endings. I don't know what I expected, but I can't deal with that. We just had sex this morning, so you can't tell me that you're somehow deprived."

"I didn't fuck her," he yelled loudly enough to bring people to the windows in the buildings around them.

"A technicality. Step back, I'm ready to go. I'll bring Nate to my office at five tomorrow. You can spend an hour with him. He's not a pawn in this, I'd never do that to either of you. I just realized that I had it backwards, didn't I?" she asked sadly. "I thought that you were learning to deal with him so you could be with me. Turns out you were dealing with me so you could be with him."

She put the car into drive and gave him a moment to step away before she left.

House limped back into his apartment, feeling an ache in the middle of his torso that made the pain in his leg feel like a mild inconvenience in comparison. Molly took his arm, an act that he jerked away from quickly. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'll go explain everything."

"You think she'll believe you? She still thinks you're a hooker, so she'll assume you're protecting your business."

"I'll tell her I'm done. My work is legitimate."

"Your business card isn't going to fix this," he sighed, pulling back when she tried to approach him again.

Molly offered again to try to explain things to Cuddy, but House showed her to the door.

That evening was long. He didn't realize how much he'd grown accustomed to dinner with his impromptu family. Whether they ate takeout or frozen dinners or made something there, it became normal. He had become used to talking while Cuddy bathed Nate and sharing a few hours with her after Nate was asleep. As the night grew dark, he missed her warm body next to his in bed, the feelings of making love with her, the comfort of sleeping next to someone who seemed to want him there.

For the first time, House wished that he had a picture of them. He looked at the clock, knowing that within the next hour, Nate would be waking up. House knew that because he almost always got up with the baby at that time. It started because their schedules coincided. House often woke because he needed more Vicodin around the time that Nate would get hungry for his overnight bottle. Cuddy and the baby made the overnight pain and loneliness feel less desolate.

He involuntarily rubbed his chest where it ached, something that irritated him before he decided that he wasn't just going to sit and accept his fate. He rode to Cuddy's, and, using the key that she'd given him, he went inside. Cuddy was asleep on her sofa, curled up with blankets wrapped around her. The sight of her sleeping alone nagged at him. He saw her fingers holding the blanket close, and realized that the night before, those same fingers were resting against his chest while she slept.

There wasn't time to waste, he knew when he heard Nate's first pre-wakeup gurgles. He went quickly to the nursery after grabbing a bottle, standing over the crib and watching the boy smile up at him. House partially smiled back, but the boy's welcome stung when House realized that this might not happen many more times. Nate reached up, and House complied, picking the boy up and stepping back to the rocker.

The things he'd become used to were suddenly glaring reminders of what he stood to lose as a result of something he didn't even do. Nate's fingers stroked House's hand while he tried to offer the bottle. The boy was already demanding and willing to go after what he wanted. House's mind went a thousand miles an hour while he tried to decide what to do. He thought of Cuddy sleeping alone on the sofa and about missing the ordinary moments as his son grew. His free arm tightened protectively when he suddenly felt something that he couldn't explain. It was that connection, the paternal feeling that he was starting to think people made up so they'd sound like good parents. He felt like a dad.

He knew he loved Cuddy, although he'd never directly told her. She'd never explicitly told him either. She'd confessed once, before the moment was broken up by his mother, that she thought she was in love with him, but they never really approached the topic again. They'd seemed contented with allowing a good thing to exist naturally. His complacency felt like a huge mistake. Nate's bottle was emptied too soon, and the child burped easily and was ready to go back to sleep. When it was time to put the baby into his crib, House leaned back in the rocker, put his feet up on the changing table and let the boy fall asleep in his arms. He patted the child and decided that he could not allow this to be the last time he held the boy at night, and, if he could help it, he didn't want the last time he slept next to Cuddy to be the final time.

Slouching down into the chair, he put his hand over the boy's back and tried to fall asleep. He must have dozed for a minute, because he woke when he felt Cuddy pick up Nate and put him into the crib. She signaled for House to follow her into the hall, closing Nate's door. "You can't just come in here," she said immediately. "We'll work out a custody arrangement. I can call a lawyer if you prefer."

"Shut up."

"You can't come into my home and speak to me that way."

"I can when you're acting like an idiot."

"Well this is going well."

"I can't believe you'd just dump me when you have no fucking clue what's going on."

"You didn't just finish getting a blow job when I walked into your room at lunch today? I'd love to hear your explanation of what I saw."

"My leg hurt. I called the same woman who gave you a massage."

"The one who we've already established was a hooker—oh, no wait—she was an escort. Which is completely different."

"I did not get a blow job. Or any other job. She spilled her drink. That was what you saw her wiping up. Besides, if I would have gotten a blow job, I would have worn a condom so she wouldn't have had any cleaning up to do."

"You were putting your pants on."

"Because it hurts to get a massage on scar tissue through my jeans. She didn't touch anything in the boxer zone."

"The boxer zone?"

"Do I need to explain that?"

Cuddy looked him over for signs he was lying, or more likely disguising the truth, but he looked so innocuous. "Nothing happened?"

"I got a massage from a massage therapist," he explained. "The kind that did not involve an orgasm. She's working for some chiropractor now at his office, she isn't hooking or escorting or anything like that. I practically begged her to come to my apartment during her lunch because my leg was killing me."

He could see the recognition on her face, like she was really beginning to believe him.

"She offered to talk to you but I didn't think you'd be too excited to see her at your door," he added.

"I really thought—"

"I know. You were wrong. I might do a lot of things to piss you off, but I wouldn't cheat on you."

"Why?"

"Because I couldn't take it if you did that to me. I hate hypocrisy. Also I'm in love with you. I might not say it, but it's true. Why would I fuck around with her if I could have you?"

"I don't know."

He had so often pursued, pushed and encouraged her, found ways to be there, convinced her to keep letting him into her life, but that night, he stood in her hallway, explaining without pursuing at all. "I told you the truth. I can't make you believe it," he said softly. "Good night."

He walked past her without any hesitation, going out the door to his motorcycle. He pulled his helmet onto his head and there she was, standing in front of the bike just like he had blocked her car hours earlier. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

He nodded, taking the helmet back off, "Do you believe me now?"

"Yes. Don't leave."

"Why?" he repeated the question she had asked him.

"Before you go, I need you to know that I love you, too. So much. And your son loves you. He lights up when he sees you. I freaked out because I didn't want to lose you and I was really upset when I thought you cheated on me. That really hurt because I'm invested here. I want this. I want this family and I want you in it."

"If you're going to dump me every time you think I might have done something wrong, this is going to be a really on-again-off-again relationship."

"I apologized."

"I know. I accept."

"You could have just told me what you were doing for lunch. Then I would have been at least slightly prepared."

"OK," he agreed without any fight. "And no more dumping me over something that's nothing. You said this means something to you. If it does, why would you throw it away without even hearing me out?"

"I was hurt and I reacted. It looked suspicious."

"I'm sure it did."

"I need to go back inside to listen for Nate. Are you coming with me?"

"Am I still dumped?"

"No. I want you to come back, if you still want to."

He balanced his helmet on the handlebars and they started to walk in. As soon as the door was shut, she shoved him against it, kissing him before he was even prepared to respond. Once he realized what was happening, he pulled her to him, his hands going to her ass and filling his grasp her firm flesh. "I missed you," she gasped, her voice muffled by his mouth on hers.

"I was only gone a few hours."

"I thought it was gonna be a lot longer."

"So did I," he answered, pulling her night gown over her head.

He was alternating between looking at her almost naked body and trying to touch her. It was both as if they'd never stopped, and they'd been separated for years. They were still so desperate for each other. She was stripped down to her underwear, she hadn't been wearing a bra because she had been sleeping. He thought about stooping down, but his leg was still tight, so he started to lift her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He was pulling off her panties and she was kicking them down her legs, naked only a few seconds after getting back into her home.

They stumbled down the hall, Cuddy trying to put some of his weight on her because she could tell he was still achy. House placed his hands on her hips and backed away for a second, stopping to make sure Nate was asleep like they did every night before bed. Quietly closing Nate's door, House went right back to Cuddy, nodding briefly that everything was alright before he started devouring her body again. She was yanking his clothes off too, pulling them away from him with surprising strength.

He lifted her onto the bed, she actually seemed to bounce into the mattress before he landed between her legs. His tongue flicked and flipped over her clit, occasionally delving lower to reach into her, immediately turning his attention into making her feel amazing. She was instantly arching her back, rocking her pelvis against him while he enjoyed the deeply intimate position she allowed. Before she could cum, she shoved him away, "Come here. I want you in me so we can cum together."

He balanced on his arms, hovering over her while she touched him. She was testing his preparation with her fingers, running them along his entire length and purring when she found he was as hard as she was wet and they were still both so filled with desire for each other.

She gasped with obvious satisfaction when he was inside her, both of them pausing as the sensation they'd craved so desperately washed over them. While they were stopped, he looked down at her, his eyes filled with lust and love equally. His leg started to cramp horribly, something that broke what felt like a wonderful moment with a cruel reminder of his reality.

Cuddy rolled him, deftly wrapping a leg around his hip and angling him onto his back. Then she stared into his eyes, cupping his face in her hand while she started to shift her hips to him. Even though she was over him, she stayed close, their bodies pressed together. Her hips moved against him, his arms moving her body while his pelvis tipped to meet her. They were sighing, gasping and groaning quietly so they wouldn't wake their son, their faces near each other, occasionally letting their mouths meet as they could.

She started moaning more loudly as she came closer to climax as if making noise was unavoidable. She kissed him fully, silencing her own sounds, but the noises that emerged from her shot through his body. "Cum with me," she demanded, her voice stuttered and shaken by the force of their thrusts. She made him crazy with want even when he had her, feeling his body surrender to the height of pleasure as soon as she started to peak.

Their robust and urgent movements slowed gradually to lazy bodies sliding against each other until they weren't really moving at all. Once she calmed, her body covering his and following the contours of his shape, she realized that his arms were still tightly locked around her to keep her body against his. He felt no desire to let go, wanting the comforting blanket of her to remain over him.

She thought he was asleep when she felt his fingers moving along her spine, and he said, "Can we have amazing makeup sex after our smaller arguments, too?"

"Definitely."

"What should we fight about next?"

She rolled off to his side, smirking and pressing her hand against his chest so she could look at him. "We could argue about the crib I saw in your apartment that I'm sure you stole from the hospital."

"You saw that?"

"I thought it was sweet that you got one until I realized where it came from."

"The sign said they were for the underprivileged, so I took one."

"You're underprivileged?"

"Yes," he answered smugly, "so bring on your wrath."

She smiled, her finger tracing his chest. "He really grew on you, didn't he?"

"Foreman?"

"Nate."

House watched her fingers and the way they moved on him. He felt awkward and almost shy, so he bragged, confidently, "Of course he grew on me. He's mine, so he's charming, handsome and already showing signs of brilliance."

She smiled, lowering her head back onto his chest so he could feel the hair gathering and pooling on his skin.

House sighed thoughtfully, "He's living proof that you and I don't always equal disaster."

* * *

**-The End-**

**Author's Note: That's it for this story, at least for now. I might write a follow-up if I can think of a good plot. I have a one shot that I'll post in a few days. Thanks again to everyone for welcoming me here. It's been fun writing.**


End file.
